


Personal Risks

by RJ_Anderson



Series: Darkness and Light [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU from HBP on, F/M, Not Underage, Teacher-Student Relationship, and shameless allusions to John Milton, canon compliant up to OotP, even more gratuitous use of bad weather, gratuitous use of potions, what if Snape wasn't emotionally stunted and obsessed with a dead woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-04
Updated: 2003-10-04
Packaged: 2020-01-15 18:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18504505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RJ_Anderson/pseuds/RJ_Anderson
Summary: Some disturbing revelations lead Maud Moody to question the basis for her trust in Snape, while an unexpected crisis forces her to make a decision that could change both their lives.





	1. Light Denied

"You are lazy and undisciplined, Potter."

Even at a whisper, Professor Snape's low, mellifluous voice could be heard down the full length of the corridor that led to his office. He could mesmerise his students with that voice, holding their attention without effort; and in his rare moments of satisfaction it held a seductive resonance that could almost - almost - make one forget the greasy hair, the yellowed teeth, the gaunt and angular features. But there was no pleasure in his voice now, only malice.

"Perhaps you think your reputation entitles you to succeed without effort," he sneered at the bespectacled fifteen-year-old before him. "But let me assure you that with regard to this subject, and all others _I_ may teach, that is not the case. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry's face was colourless, except for two livid spots high on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to protest, but Snape forestalled him, leaning closer in a horrible parody of intimacy.

"And Potter... one more word... just one... and I'll make it twenty."

Harry closed his mouth abruptly.

"Now," said Snape between his teeth, "get out of my sight."

Fists clenched, his whole body stiff with outrage, Harry spun about and walked rapidly back down the corridor. If he even noticed Maud as she passed, a pale-haired seventh-year girl with a little owl on her shoulder, he gave no sign of it. His eyes were frozen in an unfocused stare, as though he were as sightless as Maud herself, and her heart went out to him. Undeservingly famous or not, spoiled or not, no boy should ever have to look like that.

She waited until he was gone and the corridor was clear before she spoke to Snape. "What did he do now?"

He did not reply, only turned and strode back into his office. She followed him in and shut the door before repeating the question.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," said Snape, irritably plucking a porcupine quill off the surface of his desk and making it vanish with a snap of his fingers. "Arrogance. Stubbornness. Presumption."

Maud glanced back at the closed door. "What was he doing here?" It was just after seven o'clock in the evening, well after the fifth year Potions class would have ended, but too early for the end of any but the lightest detention. Remedial lessons? But if he had come to ask for help with his Potions work - which he must have done on his own initiative; Maud knew Snape too well to think that he would _offer_ to spend extra time with a student whose abilities he considered substandard - then accusing the boy of laziness was surely unfair...

Her expression must have betrayed her, because when Snape spoke again, it was icily. "Miss Moody," he said. "May I remind you that _I_ am the master here. And my dealings with Potter, however intriguing you may find them, are none of your concern."

Maud said nothing, only watched Snape through her owl's unblinking eyes as he strode around his desk and sat down. His expression was as sour as she had ever seen it, and looking at him, she felt an unfamiliar cold tightness in her stomach.

Until now she had believed - or at least tried to make herself believe - that Snape's well-known cruelty toward Harry was a necessary evil, an essential part of his guise as a former Death Eater who had never really reformed. The Potter boy was, after all, one of the Dark Lord's greatest enemies, and the one responsible for his most humiliating defeat: if Snape were to pretend even the slightest sympathy to Voldemort, he could spare no kindness for Harry.

But now she understood, with painful clarity, that there was more to the story than that. There had been no mistaking the glitter in her mentor's eyes as he looked at Harry: the hostility, even the loathing, had been real.

#

_"What's troubling you, Maudie?"_

_She gave a rueful smile, putting down her fork beside her almost untouched dinner. "Is it that obvious?"_

_Her uncle shook his grizzled head in fond exasperation. "Everything's obvious with you, girl. How you make a spy at all, let alone a useful one, I'll never know. By rights you should have been out of Durmstrang on your ear the second Karkaroff set eyes on you."_

_"You just know me too well," she replied. "Everybody else thinks I'm mysterious."_

_He snorted. "Yeah, you're mysterious and I'm handsome. Out with it."_

_Outside the snow was falling, drifting silently to earth like ashes. The night was dark, the moon and stars blanketed with cloud. If there were listeners at Mad-Eye Moody's window, they were uncommonly dedicated ones. Not to mention clever, considering the number of magical traps and defenses her ex-Auror uncle had set up around the house._

_She took a deep breath. "I suppose you've been wondering why I came here, when we're supposed to be angry at each other."_

_"True enough." His magical eye rolled around in its socket and came to rest on her. "But we can always pretend this was my idea, a foolish attempt to make peace that didn't come off. Whatever your reasons, I'm glad you came. It does me good to see you, girl."_

_He'd been worried about her, she knew. He had thought she would be happy at Hogwarts, perhaps make some friends; but the Ministry's interference had made the school as forbidding a place as Durmstrang, and with several of Umbridge's spies in her own House she had thought it best to remain aloof. No doubt the rumours he'd heard of her isolation had troubled him. She wondered whether other rumours had reached him as well._

_"I... need to talk to you," she said. "There are some things you ought to know."_

#

Snape's long-boned hands flicked through a pile of papers on his desk, sifting them into order. "I assume you had a reason for coming to see me, Miss Moody?"

She shook herself free from her reverie with an effort. "Yes," she said. "I came to tell you what happened over the holidays."

"You spoke with your uncle."

"Yes. But I wasn't referring to that." She took a deep breath. "I made an appointment with one of the Healers at St. Mungo's, and had him take a look at my eyes."

Snape sat back, folding his fingers together. "And?"

"Remember the potion we tried back in November?"

"It didn't work."

"Well..." She swallowed back the dryness in her throat. "Apparently... it did."

He gave her a swift, hard look. "Impossible," he said. "If it had worked, your severed optic nerves would have regenerated. You would no longer be blind."

"They did regenerate. My eyes are completely healed."

A pause. Then Snape said, "I see."

"Well, I don't," said Maud bitterly. "And it makes no sense. I've tried to find my way without Athena, done everything I could think of to force myself to see without her. But without the spell that links her vision to mine, everything's just... black."

"You have no idea why?"

She hesitated. "No."

Snape's thin mouth twitched. "Ah. Is that the game we're playing? Very well. I will consider what you have told me, and if I am struck by some brilliant insight into your condition, I will inform you of it. Until then, I have work to do, so..." He made a dismissive gesture with his long fingers. "Goodbye, Miss Moody."

For a moment Maud was speechless. At last she said, "Is that all you can say?"

Snape's brows lifted, although he did not look up from the parchments. "No, it is not. But it is all that I intend to say at present." He paused. "Unless you have something further to report. If you do, I suggest you get to the point. There are forty-two assignments in this pile, and they are not about to grade themselves."

Maud dropped heavily into the nearest chair, causing Athena to dig in her talons and hoot a protest. "I don't know where to start."

"At the beginning, presumably." Snape put his quill down and sat back. "You arranged a meeting with your uncle, to explain why you were no longer spying on me, and seek his co-operation. Very well. Then what happened?"

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her robes, white and fragile-looking against the heavy black. "His reaction... wasn't quite what I'd expected."

#

_There was an awkward silence. Then:_

_"You've changed, Maudie."_

_Alastor Moody's "mad-eye" could see through nearly anything, a trait that most people found disturbing. But Maud knew her uncle, trusted him, and his piercing gaze had never troubled her._

_Until now._

_"Changed?" she said, trying to speak lightly. "You think one term at Hogwarts could do what six years at Durmstrang didn't?"_

_"You know what I mean." He leaned over and poked the fire, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. In the flickering light his blunt, scarred face was sober. "Durmstrang changed you, all right; and not all for the better. But in the end, you were still my girl."_

_"And now I'm not?"_

_He shook his head. "Maudie, would I say such a thing to you? Your old uncle's a bit confused, that's all. You tell me there's something you want to talk about, but then you can't seem to find the words. We've always been able to talk to each other, before now."_

_Maud bit her lip. "I'm sorry. It's not you. I just..."_

_"Well, then. Let me see if I can help." His big hands came to rest on his knees, and his tone became brisk, businesslike. "You were supposed to be getting close to Snape, keeping an eye on him, and from all I've heard, you've done well. But if all I had were your letters-" he picked up the two or three sheets of parchment on the table beside him, flicked through them and set them down again- "I'd think you'd never met the man, much less troubled to spy on him."_

_Maud was silent, her face averted._

_"You're protecting him," said Mad-Eye flatly. "Why?"_

_It was as good an opening as she could have wished for: this was, after all, the reason she had come. She had anticipated this conversation, readied herself for it, over the past month. And yet, even now, the words came hard._

_"He's not what you think," she said. "I know you find this difficult to believe, but Dumbledore really does have good reason to trust him. Underneath the harshness, he's... a noble man."_

_"Noble?" Moody's shaggy brows shot up. "Not a word I'd choose for a Death Eater-"_

_"He's not!" The words came out louder than she'd intended, and she saw a flicker of surprise in her uncle's good eye. Abashed, she lowered her voice and continued, "He's not a Death Eater, uncle, I swear to you. Not now, not any more."_

_"Is that what he told you?"_

_"He didn't have to tell me."_

_Her uncle let out an explosive sigh. "Maud, you've only known the man three months. What makes you so sure of him? You're young yet, you've no idea-"_

_"I'm not a child, uncle."_

_Something shifted in Alastor Moody's uneven gaze. He narrowed his eyes as though seeing her clearly for the first time, and she felt the colour rising in her cheeks even before he spoke:_

_"You're in love with him."_

_"No! Uncle, have you seen Professor Snape? I know there's been talk, we've spent a lot of time working together outside of class, but - no."_

_"Then give me a better explanation."_

_"I'm trying." She took a deep breath. "There's something I've never told you - or anyone. The night I lost my parents - when the Death Eaters came - I didn't really escape on my own. It was a man who saved me, a young man whose kindness I never forgot. He Apparated into my room to warn me what was happening, and told me he would protect me. I trusted him, and he didn't let me down: he kept me from seeing the worst of what happened that night, and he talked the Death Eaters into sparing my life. I never learned his name, but I remembered his face, and most of all his voice. And when I met Professor Snape, even though it was fourteen years later-"_

_Moody sat back heavily in his chair. "Maudie, I know you're not going to want to hear this. But just because Snape helped you out once doesn't prove he's on the right side. Few men are bad all through, and even a Death Eater might decide he doesn't want to see a little girl killed. If you'd been Muggle-born, or half-blood, things could well have been different-"_

_"I don't believe this! Dumbledore trusts him, I trust him, why can't you? If I can live a double life for the sake of fighting the Dark, why do you find it so hard to believe that Snape might be doing the same thing?"_

_Her uncle's fist came down on the table, rattling the cutlery and making the plates jump. "Because you never swore a blood oath to Voldemort!"_

_Maud stared at him, speechless._

_"And that man's 'kindness' -" His mouth twisted. "D'you think I didn't notice what you left out of your story? I'd always thought the Death Eaters blinded you for sport, though it puzzled me why they hadn't just killed you and had done with it. Your Professor Snape's a lucky man, Maudie - if I'd known he'd been the one that took your sight, I'd have hunted him down like the rest of them."_

_"It wasn't his fault!"_

_"He cast the spell, didn't he?"_

_"He didn't mean - it was supposed to be temporary - to keep me from seeing - reacting -"_

_"And you believe that?"_

_"Yes!"_

_"Well, if he meant you no harm, why didn't he wipe your memory after he saved you? It would have been a deal kinder, in the end."_

_"No." She breathed the word with sudden fervour. "No, it wouldn't. My experiences, good and bad, have made me who I am. If Snape had used Obliviate on me, I would be a different person. I'd give up my sight a thousand times over before I'd-"_

_She stopped. Her uncle was looking at her with a completely unfamiliar expression: part astonishment, part helplessness, part nausea._

_"I've heard a speech like that before," he said. "I'll leave you to guess who delivered it." He closed his eyes, his heavy brow furrowed with grief. "What has he done to you, Maudie?"_

_Maud buried her face in her hands._

#

"I thought that when I told him how you saved my life, he would understand," she said quietly to Snape, her head still bent. "But it only seemed to make him more suspicious. He thinks - he thinks you're influencing me. That you have some sort of power over me."

Snape said nothing, only watched her out of his black, inscrutable eyes.

"He said, _'Not all spells are done with wands, Maudie.'_ " She mimicked Mad-Eye's rasping tones. "Whatever _that's_ supposed to mean."

A half-smile tugged at the corner of Snape's mouth. "Sometimes," he said, "I forget how young you are. Your uncle is right, Maud."

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"You were raised in a wizard home. Most likely your first magic was done while playing with your mother or father's wand, and you never stopped to think whether it was possible to do it any other way. But most Muggle-born wizard children can tell you that their first spells were cast without a wand, indeed without even realising that they were doing magic at all."

He steepled his fingers, assumed a lecturing tone. "A wand is merely a focus, a means of refining and directing magic. But the source of the magic lies within the wizard himself. And at times of extreme stress or mortal danger, it is possible for even a fully trained wizard to cast an unintentional, uncontrolled spell." He paused. "Such spells are rarely subtle, and tend to have limited effects, so they are seldom a reason for concern. But - there are exceptions."

_Extreme stress,_ she thought. _Or mortal danger._ On the night she and Snape first met, he had risked his life to save hers. It had been one of his earliest acts in defiance of Voldemort, and for his plan to succeed he had needed her absolute trust, her unquestioning co-operation. If she had resisted him, and the Death Eaters had guessed that her blindness was temporary and that her wits were still about her, Snape would have been exposed as a traitor and likely killed on the spot.

"When one wizard saves the life of another," Snape said softly, "that bond is not easily broken. Even if I did not inadvertently _force_ you to trust me that night, as your uncle fears, there is still a life-debt between us. And that may well be affecting your judgement where I am concerned."

"Are you telling me not to trust you?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Is any human being entirely trustworthy? Growing up with a suspicious old goat like Mad-Eye Moody, I would have expected you to be less naïve."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be." He pushed his chair back and stood, stretching his long limbs with an unselfconscious ease he never showed in the classroom. "In the end, Maud, only you can decide to what extent I am worthy of the trust you have placed in me. And only you can prove whether that trust is real." He put a hand on her shoulder, fingers curling gently around her collarbone. "Now. Stop worrying about your uncle, and your eyes, and get back to your dormitory. At any moment your roommate Miss Groggins is bound to notice your absence: and while I find her poisonous little rumours amusing, I expect they are less so to you. Go."

Reluctantly she rose to her feet, paused a moment to look at him. There was little about Severus Snape to invite a second glance, but her heightened senses had long told her that there was more to his appearance than first met the eye. His hair might look greasy, but it did not smell unwashed; and although his teeth were yellowed, his breath was never sour. Indeed, for all that he spent his days handling noxious substances and stirring bubbling cauldrons, his robes were unstained and his hands, while rough, quite clean. And they were beautiful hands: strong and long-fingered, with elegant bones. She wondered, irrelevantly, if he had ever played an instrument.

"Miss Moody," said Snape with cold emphasis, "are you intending to remain here goggling at me until the rumours are no longer rumours? Go. _Now._ "

In classic Snape tradition, the remark was ruthless, uncalled for, and had precisely the effect he had intended: Maud whipped out of the office as though a three-headed hellhound were nipping at her heels. Only later as she dressed for bed, all the while avoiding Muriel Groggins's suspicious gaze, did she realise what he had said.


	2. My True Account

"Hullo, heartless stuck-up Slytherin wench," said George Weasley cheerfully, sliding into the seat across from her in the library. "I've got a question for you."

Maud did not raise her head, or otherwise acknowledge his presence: she merely turned a page with an elaborate show of unconcern and said in a barely audible voice, "Go away, George."

The last time she had been seen speaking to the Weasley twins, the results had not been pleasant. Her roommate Muriel had picked a fight with her over it, and the incident had nearly destroyed her relationship with Snape. After that, Maud made a rule for herself: no talking to Gryffindors, _especially_ Fred and George Weasley.

It had not been easy, because the Weasleys were likeable rogues who not only shared Maud's Potions class but also her interest in research and experimentation outside of class, and they seemed to know instinctively that her coldness toward them was half-hearted. Even now, despite the fact that she had not spoken so much as a word to them in weeks, they persisted in bantering with her, asking her advice on potions ingredients.

Part of her longed to respond to their appeals, if only in secret. But how many double lives could she lead? It was one thing to fool her fellow students, another to fool Snape. And it was not fair to betray the trust Snape had placed in her, when he had already given her a chance to have a normal life and friends like the Weasleys instead of allying herself with him - and she had chosen him.

"Yeah, I know," said George, "you're afraid of your love for me. But seriously, why don't you ever show up to any Quidditch matches? Slytherin played Ravenclaw on Saturday, and practically your whole house was there, waving their little green flags and hissing. But not you. Now I call that unsporting."

The words were spoken flippantly, but Maud heard the message behind them: _I'm worried about you. You need to get out more._

"George," she said, still not looking at him and moving her lips as little as possible, "I can't talk to you. I'm sorry, I just can't. Please go away before you get me in trouble."

There was a moment of strained silence. Then, abruptly, George pushed his chair back and left. Maud bit her lip hard and took a deep breath before picking up her book and continuing to read as though nothing had happened.

She had come to the library in search of a quiet corner to work and a chance to escape from Muriel's baleful gaze - by now she had little doubt that her roommate was one of Umbridge's spies, and the less time she spent in the other girl's presence the better. But if puzzling over Snape's oblique remark of last night had troubled Maud's concentration, George's visit had shattered it. For several more minutes she stared down at the page before her, but the book might have been written in Gobbledegook for all the sense it made. At last, with a sigh, she slapped the volume closed.

Athena must have sensed her mistress's turmoil, for she nibbled Maud's ear, coaxing from her a reluctant smile. "I'll be all right," she murmured, stroking the little owl's head. Satisfied, Athena fluffed out her feathers and nestled down, and it was with a lighter heart that Maud left the library and headed back toward her dormitory.

She had only taken a few steps when a hand came out of nowhere, closed on her arm, and yanked her out of the corridor, straight through what had appeared to be a solid wall. Too startled to scream, she stared at the flushed face of George Weasley, who was brandishing a lighted wand and grinning at her.

"Now," he said, "where were we?"

#

_"He's got no right to use you this way, Maudie."_

_Alastor Moody's square jaw was set, his expression more grim than ever. "When I think of the damage he's done already-"_

_Maud dropped her hands. "What? What harm has he done? Yes, he blinded me, but I've forgiven him. And if I don't have the right to forgive Snape, who does?"_

_"It's not that." Her uncle's voice was thick. "You've no idea how many things... how much he's made himself a part of you, without you even realising it. D'you know that Potions was your father's worst subject? Your mother was no great hand at it either. But you've always been uncommonly good with a cauldron, and I never knew why... until now."_

_She sat back, shaken. "I don't believe that. It's nonsense, it's - it's madness. Why shouldn't I do well at Potions, even if my parents didn't? I had good teachers at Durmstrang, and Snape is one of the best. You're just-" She stopped herself just in time. Enough people over the years had called Mad-Eye Moody paranoid: she had sworn she never would. "-worrying too much," she finished lamely._

_Moody stared at her a moment, as though unable to believe what he was hearing. Then he rasped, "I'll kill him," and lurched to his feet._

_"No!" Maud was out of her chair in an instant, gripping her uncle's arm. "Listen to yourself. Do you really have so little faith in me, after all these years? You raised me, taught me, made me what I am. You of all people should know - I'm not giving up the fight against the Dark. I'm carrying on with it, in the best way I can."_

_She took a deep breath. "It's true, Professor Snape was a Death Eater. He hurt people, maybe even killed them, for Voldemort. And even now that he's changed sides - and I've no doubt that he truly has - I don't always like his methods, and I don't always agree with his actions. He knows that, too: I haven't hidden it from him. But he hasn't tried to make me change my mind. I swear to you, Uncle: I may be playing the same game as Snape, but I am not - NOT - his pawn."_

_#_

"Sorry to drag you in here like this," said George, letting go of her. "Although the look on your face when I grabbed you was dead brilliant. Look, are you in trouble? I mean, the kind that isn't fun."

Maud hardly heard him: she was staring around the room. It was a small, windowless space, with a series of shelves on one side and a row of hooks on the other. Several cloth bags - most likely potions ingredients - hung from the latter, while the shelves carried books, sheaves of parchment, and other school supplies. "Where _is_ this?"

"It's a travelling closet. Fred and I found it last year when we were practising our lock-picking. It hadn't been opened in years, and it must have been lonely or something, because once we cleaned it up and put our stuff in it, it started following us around the school." He shrugged. "So we stuck a Chameleon Charm on the door, and now nobody else can even find it."

"I'm impressed," said Maud, and meant it.

"Point is, nobody knows we're here, and nobody can hear us, so-" George poked her in the shoulder. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

Maud sighed. "I'm not in trouble. Really." When George looked sceptical she continued rapidly, "I just can't afford to be caught talking to you, for reasons I can't go into."

His face darkened. "It's Umbridge, isn't it?"

"No, it's not Umbridge." Which was, fortunately, true. So far, Maud had successfully avoided attracting the woman's notice, and she was determined to keep it that way. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but-"

"Muriel Groggins, then? I heard she went barmy when she found out you'd been talking to us." He made a face. "Stupid cow, can't even make up her mind which one of us she fancies."

That, at least, answered a question Maud had been wondering about for some time. But honesty compelled her to admit, "No, it's not Muriel either. I just - I wish I could tell you, but I can't."

"You're working for your uncle, aren't you?"

This was dangerous ground. "Why would you think that?"

"Because he's really cool, and something about you reminds me of him. Not your looks," George added hastily. "Just... I dunno... something."

All at once Maud saw her way out of the situation. "You're right," she said, lowering her voice. "He sent me here to keep an eye on Snape. He doesn't trust him, you see. But I have to be a model Slytherin, do you understand? And I can't be friends with anyone who isn't in Slytherin - my uncle included. Or I won't get close enough to Snape to learn anything." As far as the bare facts went, it was the truth: whatever George chose to make of it was another matter.

"I knew it!" He was triumphant. "Fred and I had a bet on, he'll be narked when I tell him."

Maud was surprised. "He thought I really was a heartless stuck-up Slytherin wench?"

"Nah. He thought you had something on with Snape and didn't want to upset him. I told him he was barking, that was just one of Muriel's stupid rumours and we'd both heard you deny it, but-" He shrugged again. "Sometimes Fred gets these ideas."

Maud chose to let this pass. "George," she said, with an urgency that was only partly feigned, "you have to understand. You can't tell anyone what I've just told you. Fred, if you have to, but no one else. If the truth gets out, there could be real trouble."

The Weasley twins obviously knew how to keep their mouths shut, if they thought something was important enough: after all, they already had any number of secrets of their own. But even if worst came to worst and Maud's story leaked out, it would not be the whole truth, or even the most damaging part of it. Whatever might happen to her after that, at least she would not take Snape down with her.

The impish glint in George's eyes vanished, and his expression became sober. "Fred and I already agreed on it," he said. "If you told either one of us what was going on, we'd help if we could, but we'd keep it to ourselves." He stuck out his hand. "Fair enough?"

Maud forced a smile and shook the hand he offered. "Fair enough."

An alliance with the Weasleys wasn't something she had planned, but now that it had happened, she had to admit it might not be such a bad idea. She'd have to be careful, of course, and keep her meetings and conversations with them to a minimum. But it would be good to know she could call on them if she needed help, and they'd be happy to have her advice when one of their experiments didn't quite work the way they'd planned.

George's grin returned. "Brilliant! Fred owes me ten Galleons."

Only it _was_ a pity about that bet, Maud thought, a little wildly. Fred would never know he had been right.

#

_"You're too young, Maudie." The words were a groan, wrenched from deep within her uncle's broad chest. "You think you know what you're doing, but you've no idea of the danger."_

_"Then you're the one to blame. Who sent me to Durmstrang to spy on Karkaroff? And to Hogwarts to spy on Snape? You didn't think I was too young to handle those assignments. Why are things so different now? Are you jealous because I'm working with Snape, instead of you?"_

_She had gone too far. Before the last word even left her mouth, she knew it, but it was too late to take the accusation back. Alastor Moody winced visibly, and collapsed back into his chair as though she had struck him._

_"That was a hard thing to say, girl. A very hard thing to say."_

_Maud did not reply, knowing that anything she might add would only make matters worse. She simply stood there looking at him, a painful lump forming in her throat._

_"I suppose I am to blame," he said heavily after a moment. "Your father was a gentle man, Maudie, and a scholar. When the Death Eaters came, he didn't fight them. Your mother tried - she had spirit, did Margo. But she didn't know how, and it only got her killed."_

_He looked down at his big hands. "When you came into my care, I swore to myself I wouldn't let you grow up without teaching you to take care of yourself. Because I knew I might not always be there for you. But it may be... I went too far, pushed you into independence before your time. For fear you'd be too much like your father, I made you too much like me."_

_"Not too much," said Maud softly, but her uncle did not seem to hear. He went on:_

_"I should have known you'd be drawn to Snape. You've grown up accustomed to taking risks." He gave a heavy sigh. "And living with one tough, ugly fighter for most of your life, it'd be hard for you to resist a man who seems to be cut from the same kind of cloth."_

_If Maud had still been eating, she would have choked. Alastor Moody, comparing himself to Snape? But when she thought about it..._

_She decided not to think about it. "Uncle, I am working with Professor Snape. I am learning from him. And yes, I feel a certain... affinity with him. I believe that he is a man of integrity, and that I can trust him. But that's all. He's never given me any reason to-"_

_No, that was definitely heading in the wrong direction. She cleared her throat and tried again: "I know you're afraid for me, that you want to protect me from making bad decisions. But you're forgetting - I'm not in this alone. Headmaster Dumbledore knows exactly what's going on, and I know that he wouldn't hesitate to intervene if he thought I was acting unwisely. Even if he didn't care about me personally - and I know he cares about all his students - he'd feel obliged to look after me for your sake." She paused. "Unless you've decided that he's not to be trusted, either?"_

_"Don't talk nonsense, girl," growled Moody. "I may have a reputation for jumping at shadows, but I'm not so mad as to think I've got no friends."_

_"Is Dumbledore so mad as to think he's got no enemies?"_

_"Of course not."_

_"Then why don't you ask him why he trusts Snape?"_

_Mad-Eye rubbed the side of his mangled nose. "Maudie, I had that conversation with Albus a long time ago. And again this summer. We simply don't agree where Snape's concerned, and that's a fact."_

_Maud let her hands drop to her sides, defeated. "Then I suppose... there's nothing more to say."_

#

"You are quiet tonight, Miss Moody."

Snape's tone was as civil as she had ever heard it - perhaps he felt some remorse for embarrassing her the last time they had met, although she knew better than to expect he would say so.

"I have a lot to think about," she said, pushing up the sleeves of her robe and donning the dragon-hide gloves she would need to protect her hands from the Dissolving Solution they were making. One drop of this stuff, given a minute or two, could melt just about anything. Which was why it had to be brewed with meticulous care, adding the ingredients in just the right order, and then ladled hastily into adamantine flasks before it could eat through the bottom of the cauldron you were making it in. She could just imagine the havoc such a project could create if Snape ever tried to teach it in class - which was, of course, why he didn't.

"Then allow me to give you one more thought to consider." His smile was faintly sardonic. "I find myself... obliged... to be absent from Hogwarts tomorrow. I have arranged for a substitute to teach my classes, and expect to return before nightfall, but I have a potion brewing in my office which must be stirred in an anti-clockwise direction every five hours, and it will require attention while I am away. I trust that I might rely on you?"

She was surprised. "Of course."

"Good." He handed her a vial of Basilisk venom. "Two drops only, Miss Moody: and count to ten before you add the second."

Maud nodded. Carefully she unstopped the beaker and let a drop fall into the depths of the cauldron. One... and two. The solution frothed, gurgled, and turned bright green. "All right. What next?"

Silence. She turned to see Snape looking at her, his dark eyes steady and almost quizzical, as though he were pondering a question to which she might be the answer. "What should I add next?" she repeated, and he shook himself back to attention with an obvious effort.

"A griffin feather. You should find one in the drawer of the workbench to your right."

"Well, if not, I can always throw in my wand," said Maud. It was a lame attempt at humour, but Snape's black brows lifted, as though he were intrigued.

"Griffin feather? Unusual. An Ollivander wand?"

"Gregorovich." She pulled it out of her sleeve and showed it to him. "Apple wood and griffin feather, eleven and a half inches. I bought it my first year at Durmstrang."

"Interesting," he said, but did not elaborate.

Maud opened the drawer, and sorted through several different kinds of feathers until she found the one she wanted: slate-grey with a bluish, metallic sheen. "Do I just throw it in, or...?"

"No. First dip the tip of the feather into the potion and draw the Hebrew letter _daleth_."

"I don't know that one," said Maud, embarrassed by her own ignorance. "Would you show me?"

Snape made an exasperated sound. "Here," he said, striding over to her and snatching the feather from her hand. "Take off your gloves: the potion's not corrosive yet, and they'll only interfere."

Maud obeyed, laying the dragon-hide gauntlets down on the workbench. Snape put his hands on her shoulders and moved her so that she was standing between him and the cauldron, half-bent toward the seething liquid deep within. She could feel the heat breaking over her in waves as he slid his hand down her arm to her wrist, lacing his fingers through hers so that they held the griffin feather together. "Now... pay attention," he said, his voice dropping an octave, and she shivered.

"A horizontal line... like this..." he murmured, guiding her hand into the cauldron as he spoke. The feather stroked across the surface of the potion, leaving a faint tracery of silver against the shimmering green. "And then a vertical line... so."

Athena sidled closer to Maud's neck, no doubt finding Snape's nearness uncomfortable. She wasn't the only one, thought Maud. Her heart was beating in her throat. His hair mingled with hers where it lay across her shoulder, threads of unfamiliar black against the white-gold. He still smelled of herbs, a dry and faintly musty scent, but not unpleasant. His left arm encircled her, holding her around the waist lest she fall into the cauldron, and even through two layers of robes and skin she could feel the hard sinew beneath. The fingers that twined with hers were cool, their touch light and almost gentle, despite the firmness of his manner. It was not until the edges of her visual link with Athena darkened and the room gave a disconcerting lurch that Maud realised she was holding her breath.

"There," said Snape, straightening up and releasing her. His voice sounded strained, as though he too were breathless. "I suggest you study and practice writing the Hebrew alphabet at the earliest available opportunity, Miss Moody. There are several potions which draw on it in some capacity."

Maud's cheeks were flushed. She let the griffin feather slide into the potion and stepped away from him. "I'll do that," she said. "Thank you."

"You need rest," Snape observed, his eyes narrowing critically as he looked her up and down. "If you wish, you may return to your dormitory. The remaining steps of the potion are simple; you will not be missing anything of consequence."

"I... yes. I think that might be a good idea." Maud smiled weakly at him. "Good night, then."

"Good night," he said, and turned his back on her.

She left the dungeon and headed down the cold, damp-smelling corridor, taking deep breaths in an effort to clear her head. It helped, but not completely.

_...the rumours,_ said Snape's acid voice in her mind, _are no longer rumours..._

Over the past three days she had thought of several possible interpretations of those words, and nearly convinced herself that he had only meant to embarrass her into leaving him alone with his work, or to remind her to beware of giving Muriel further opportunity for malice. Anything but the straightforward, obvious reading, because in her experience Snape was seldom either straightforward or obvious.

Now she knew better, and it terrified her.

_My uncle will kill you,_ she had teased Snape in Dumbledore's office, after they had first shaken hands on their alliance. And he had taken the threat seriously, more seriously than she could quite understand at the time. After all, she had only meant that Uncle Alastor would not approve of her apprenticeship with Snape, and that it would take some effort to win him over.

Hadn't she?

_You're too young, Maudie. You think you know what you're doing, but you've no idea of the danger..._

Heaven help her, she thought desperately. Her uncle had been right.


	3. This Dark World

"What are you doing?" said a girl's voice.

Maud looked up to see Hermione Granger standing in front of the table, her head tilted to one side in an effort to read what Maud had written. "Practising the Hebrew alphabet," she said, and the younger girl nodded, as though satisfied.

"I knew I didn't recognise the letters. But... Hebrew?" Her eyes widened with an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety. "It's not going to come up in Ancient Runes, is it?"

If it had been any other Gryffindor talking to her, Maud would have ended the conversation coolly and returned to her work. Hermione, however, was a friend of Viktor Krum, and with such a mutual acquaintance it was only natural that they should have at least one conversation. In any case, Snape had left Hogwarts after breakfast this morning, and Muriel had no reason to be jealous of Maud talking to Hermione, so there was little to fear. "No," she admitted. "I'm learning it for Potions."

"Oh. Why not just use a translation spell?"

"Because I have to write Hebrew, not read it." When the other girl continued to look puzzled, Maud continued with a touch of exasperation, "You know, for when you have to draw a letter on the surface of a potion."

Hermione seemed surprised. "I've never heard of Hebrew letters being used that way." She paused. "It's not mentioned in _Magic of the Middle East_ , I'm sure of it. There's a reference in _A History of Potion-Craft in the Orient_ to Chinese wizards drawing lucky ideograms around the mouths of their cauldrons, but that's not the kind of thing you're talking about. Is it?"

"No." Maud set down her quill and closed the Hebrew primer she'd been reading. "Do you mean you've never come across any reference to tracing letters or runes over a potion? With a feather, for instance?" She didn't know Hermione very well, but from all accounts the girl was a walking encyclopaedia of magical theory. If she hadn't heard about it...

"I suppose it might be in _Magica Hebraica_ ," mused Hermione, but she sounded dubious. "Hang on, I'll go and have a look."

She returned some minutes later with a worn-looking volume, sat down at the end of Maud's table and began leafing through the pages. "No," she murmured. "No, that's not it... maybe in Chapter Eleven..."

There was a quicker way to solve this problem, Maud realised: look up the recipe for Dissolving Solution and see what it said. If she remembered correctly, it would be listed in _Moste Potente Potions_ , which was kept in the library's Restricted Section; but Snape had already given Maud _carte blanche_ in that regard, and Madam Pince no longer even asked for a note. As Hermione continued to flip pages and mutter to herself, Maud rose quietly from her chair and went to request the book.

One look at the relevant page confirmed her fears. The recipe did call for a griffin feather, but the instructions gave no hint that anything unusual should be done with it. There was certainly nothing in there about Hebrew letters, or drawing, or...

Last night, Maud had stayed away from the Slytherin dormitory until the last possible moment, and crawled into bed only after the lights were out, not wanting Muriel to see her. Even at that, the memory of Snape's touch still burned against her skin, and she had feared to look down at her arm lest she see the mark of his fingers glowing there.

Sleep had never seemed so far away. The only way she could find any rest at all was to tell herself, again and again, that she was making a fuss about nothing. How else could Snape have shown her what to do? It was, after all, a volatile potion, and the instructions had to be followed to the letter...

_I'll kill him,_ echoed her uncle's voice in her mind.

"Did you find it?"

Maud jumped and nearly dropped the book. She turned to see Hermione standing there, _Magica Hebraica_ in hand. "I couldn't," the younger girl admitted. Then, with renewed curiosity, "Where did you hear about this, anyway? Are you sure it wasn't just a joke?"

"Yes." Maud gave _Moste Potente Potions_ back to Madam Pince and turned away. "Quite sure."

#

_There was another long pause before Alastor Moody spoke again, sounding as resigned and weary as she felt: "And you say you're not in love with Snape."_

_"I'm not. Uncle, when have I lied to you?"_

_He took her hand, his big fingers engulfing hers, and squeezed it. "I know, lass. I'm sorry. But these things happen, you know. It might happen yet."_

_"I don't know why you'd think so. He doesn't exactly go out of his way to be charming."_

_Moody gave a barking laugh. "That's for certain!" Then his face sobered again and he said, "Just... don't mistake hardness for strength, Maudie, or an ill-tempered man for a sensitive one. Many women do, and regret it."_

_It was the closest he had ever come to admitting she might not still be a child, and Maud was oddly moved by it. "I'll remember that," she said softly. "I promise."_

_#_

The cauldron in Snape's office had boiled dangerously high by the time Maud was able to escape from her final class and hurry down to the dungeon to stir it. It would serve him right, she thought bitterly, if she did it the wrong way and it blew up in his face. Nevertheless, she gave it the required six strokes anti-clockwise and waited for the bubbling to subside before leaving the office again and closing the door behind her.

She had taken less than three steps down the hall when Muriel's nasal, strident voice interrupted her. "What were you doing in Snape's office, Moody-girl? Or do I want to know?"

Maud stopped, but did not turn. "Oh, I'm sure you think you do know," she said. "But as a matter of fact, Professor Snape is away from Hogwarts today. Take your filthy rumours somewhere else, Muriel. There's nothing here for you."

It was the bluntest speech she'd made to Muriel yet, but it didn't seem to faze her. "You didn't come in until late last night," said the other girl softly, walking up beside her and poking Maud hard with the end of her wand. "Very late. Where were you, Moody? What were you doing?"

"Snogging in the Astronomy tower with George Weasley," snapped Maud, and began walking away.

Muriel grabbed a handful of Maud's robes, yanked her around and shoved her against the wall. "You think you're perfect, don't you? You think you're just so good. Let's see you prove it, then. Right now."

Maud wrenched away from her. "I have nothing to prove. And duelling is against Hogwarts rules, so put that wand back in your sleeve."

"Come on," whispered Muriel, her piggy eyes glittering in the half-light. She stepped into the middle of the hallway, elbows flexed, fingers clenching and unclenching around her wand. "Come on, you know you want to."

"Get splinched, Groggins."

"Ooh, the little blind girl has a temper. Does Snape know that? Maybe he does. Maybe he likes it. Is that what he was whispering in your ear last night?"

Maud froze, as though she had locked gazes with a Basilisk. She stared at Muriel, unable to speak.

"He leans _awfully_ close when he's giving you directions, doesn't he?" said the other girl, a malicious grin splitting her face. "Not in class, oh no, our Snapey's far too clever for that. But when he thinks the two of you are alone..."

The blood leaped into Maud's face, and her wand into her hand. "Three," she said huskily. "Two. One."

_"Apis!"_ shouted Muriel, and a stream of bees, buzzing furiously, shot out of the end of her wand. Maud ducked, feeling Athena's claws digging hard into her shoulder, and cried _"Fumidus!"_ Instantly the corridor filled with thick grey smoke, and the bees vanished, leaving Muriel coughing into her sleeve.

There was no time to waste. Maud levelled her wand again. _"Limus!"_

"Contego!"Muriel spluttered, just in time. The spell rebounded off an invisible shield and splattered against the wall. Then she called out in a clearer voice, _"Turbo!"_

Instinctively Maud threw herself to one side, but it was too much for Athena. Frightened, the little owl took to the air - straight into the middle of Muriel's hex. With a screech, she began tumbling in place, head over talons, wings flapping frantically as she strove to keep herself aloft.

The corridor whirled dizzily around Maud. Her stomach rebelled, and she dropped to her knees, hands over her mouth to keep from vomiting. She could barely gasp out the spell that broke her visual link to Athena: " _Abiungo-_ "

And then Muriel's wand was at her throat.

"Not so great after all, are you?" Muriel was breathing hard, but there was no mistaking the triumph in her voice. "Without your owl, you're nothing but a useless cripple. And darling Snapey isn't here to rescue you. So... kneel, blind girl. Kiss my feet and promise to be good, and maybe I'll let you go."

Behind her, Athena still whirled and flapped desperately, her terrified hooting echoing down the hall. "Don't be a fool, Muriel," said Maud between her teeth. "Somebody will be down here any moment. You want me to tell you you've won? Fine. You've won. You're better than me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"It's a start." Muriel flicked Maud's cheek with the wand, hard enough to bruise. "Now ask me how I knew about you and Snape."

Maud lifted her head, eyes straining for a glimpse of the other girl's face, but the world remained black. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so helpless.

"Go on," insisted Muriel, "ask."

"All right." Maud's voice was barely audible. "How did you know?"

Muriel gave a little crow of delight. "I didn't! I was just winding you up. You mean- it's really true? You were with him last night? Like _that?"_ She giggled. "Oh, you're going to be in so much trouble when I tell Umbridge... You could be sent down, you know. And that's nothing to what they'll do to Snape-"

There was no time to hesitate, no time even to think. Maud whipped her wand free of her robes, pointed it in the direction of Muriel's voice, and spoke a single word, cold and clear:

" _Obliviate_."

There was an awful silence. Muriel's grip on her slackened, and Athena's frantic screeching stopped. A moment later Maud felt the little owl's talons close on her shoulder, and she put up a hand to calm the trembling bird. She could taste bile in her throat as she whispered, " _Iungo_."

Muriel was sitting against the wall, her wand fallen from her hand, her eyes vacant. "Hullo," she murmured vaguely. "Where am I? And what are you doing here?"

Hating you. Hating myself. Violating everything I thought I stood for.

Tears prickled behind Maud's eyes. "It's not important," she said thickly, picking up Muriel's wand and handing it back to her. "Just- you'd better come with me. We're going to be late for class."

#

_"Well, you're on your own now, Maudie. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"_

_She was surprised. "I beg your pardon?"_

_"Oh, come on, girl. You wouldn't have taken the risk of coming here just for a chat." He shifted restlessly in the chair and propped his good leg up on the ottoman. "The minute I opened the door and saw you standing there, I knew you'd come to say goodbye."_

_This, above all, was the part of the conversation Maud had dreaded. She turned her wand over and over in her hands, not knowing what to say._

_"I'll never be happy to think of you working with Snape," said her uncle roughly. "You'd best get used to that. Mark my words, you'll come to rue the day you ever trusted him. But-"_

_Maud held her breath._

_"Even at that, I won't stand in your way." He reached out, laid one big, scarred hand gently over hers. "You know you've a home here, Maudie. Whatever happens, you can always - ALWAYS - come to me."_

_He paused, then bared his teeth in a sudden, devilish grin. "Especially if you decide you'd like Snape chopped up into bits and fed to the kneazles."_

_#_

Maud had never imagined she'd take her uncle up on that offer, but by the time night fell on Hogwarts, she was seriously considering it. Where _was_ Snape, anyway?

The potion he'd entrusted to her care had been blue and watery at the first stirring, purple and glutinous at the second, and now, finally, it had turned as black as Marmite and was nearly as thick. Yet she had no instructions that would help her identify the potion or decide what ought to be done with it. Snape had told her he would be back before now. But here it was ten o'clock, and still no sign.

Was she meant to come down here to stir the potion in another five hours? Surely not: it was against Hogwarts rules for students to leave their dormitories after lights out, and Snape - his uncharacteristically reckless behaviour of last night notwithstanding - would not expect her to break the rules, nor be pleased if he learned that she had done so.

But if she didn't tend to the potion, who would? Potter?

Now it smelled like Marmite, too. Maud made a face and put down the spoon. What a splendid day she'd been having. All she needed was to have Snape's cauldron boil over at three in the morning and flood the dungeons. Then he'd probably come back and make her clean it up.

Helplessly she glanced around the room, hoping for some sign of a note, a recipe, a book left lying out; but typical of Snape, he had left his office in clinically perfect order, and it yielded no clues. Her only hope was to talk to Snape, or at least find out where he might be. But how?

Athena, no doubt sensing her mistress's frustration, sidled closer to Maud's ear and nibbled it comfortingly. Maud gave a reluctant smile, put up a hand to stroke the little owl-

-and just like that, she knew.

A few minutes later, armed with parchment and quill, she sat down at the table in the Slytherin common room and wrote the first three words that came into her head. The contents of the message weren't important anyway: all that mattered was the address. Carefully she folded the paper over, sealed it with a touch of her wand, and printed "Professor Severus Snape" on the outside. Then, with some difficulty since she was seeing through Athena's eyes and therefore couldn't actually look _at_ Athena, she rolled up the parchment and tied it to the owl's leg.

Ever since the incident with Muriel, Athena had seemed withdrawn and even a bit depressed: but now, seeing the letter, she hopped up and down excitedly. As a seeing-eye owl, she seldom had the opportunity to deliver mail. She would put her heart into this, Maud knew. If Snape could be located within any reasonable distance, Athena would fly to him as fast as her wings would carry her.

On the other hand, if Snape was more than a few miles away, Maud would lose the visual link before Athena found him. But it was still worth trying. Even if only the message reached Snape, at least he would know Maud was looking for him.

None of the other Slytherins lounging about the room seemed to notice, or care, what Maud was doing: after all, they sent owls to their friends and relatives practically every day. Maud chose one of the high-backed chairs before the fire and lowered herself into it, taking deep breaths to quell her nerves. Then she lifted Athena in her cupped hands, feeling the little owl's warmth, her quick erratic heartbeat.

"Go," she whispered.

At once Athena zoomed off, skimming the common room's low ceiling. She had to circle three times, narrowly avoiding the hanging lamps, before the door opened and some more students came in; then she flashed through the opening and away, veering left, right, left again, and up the stairs.

Maud's fingers dug into the arms of the chair as the world dipped and soared around her. Sharing Athena's vision in flight was never a comfortable experience, especially indoors. But at last Athena found one of the school's many owltlets, those cleverly concealed openings specifically designed for the use of her kind: in a twinkling she passed through the outer walls and into the wintry night.

She had sent the little owl into miserable weather, Maud realised with a pang of guilt: even though she couldn't feel the chill as Athena did, she could see the thick clouds covering the moon, the icy fields and the hard sleet driving down. For a moment Athena's wing-beats faltered, making Maud's vision lurch as she plummeted through the air: but the little owl caught herself before she had fallen more than a few feet, and stubbornly carried on.

Over the Hogwarts grounds she flapped, past Hagrid's lighted hut, and into the forbidden forest. There, amid the dark skeletons of the trees, Athena slowed her pace and glided, her gaze sweeping the uneven ground as though in search of prey.

Now _that_ was odd. The only explanation Maud could think of was that Athena must be hungry, and felt the need of a snack to fortify herself before beginning her task in earnest. But no sooner had she framed the thought when a mouse scurried out of the underbrush, and Athena stolidly ignored it. What _was_ she doing?

Still the owl flew on, weaving her way among the trees, until she reached a small clearing half choked with thorns and brambles. She circled this area slowly before coming to light on an overhanging branch, and Maud clenched her fists in impatience. Something had gone wrong, she thought. Athena must be confused. Perhaps Muriel's whirlwind hex had-

Then she realised what the owl was seeing, and the blood froze in her veins.

Near the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by the brush, a dark shape lay sprawled upon the ground. His robes were in tatters, the side of his face black with blood. As Athena left her perch and fluttered toward him he made an effort to pull himself up, only to collapse once more upon the snow-dusted grass.

Undaunted, Athena lighted on the wounded man's shoulder and hopped toward the pallid crescent of his face. When he failed to respond, she nibbled at his ear, but still he did not move. At last, evidently bewildered, she backed away and sat gazing at Snape's motionless body while the sleet pelted down around them.

Maud had to fight the impulse to fling herself out of her chair. Silently she cried out to the owl who was her only means of sight: _Come back! We have to get to him - you have to show me - leave him and come back!_

The link she shared with Athena was visual, nothing more; but the spell did create a certain bond, which familiarity and the passing years had deepened into near-empathy. Athena might not have been able to hear Maud's cry, but she knew her mistress well enough. Her hesitation lasted only a moment longer: then with sudden decisiveness she clawed the letter free of her leg, dropped it on Snape's limply outstretched hand, and launched herself back into the air.

There was no time to waste. " _Abiungo,_ " whispered Maud, and the image of the forest, with its winding paths and gloomy close-set trees, vanished. Blindly she rose from the chair and felt her way along the rough stone wall toward the door.

It was not the first time Maud had walked the Hogwarts corridors without Athena. Over the last few weeks, knowing that her unfamiliarity with the castle put her at a disadvantage, she had forced herself to memorise the routes from her dormitory to several key places: the Great Hall, the dungeon where Snape taught Potions, Dumbledore's office...

Dumbledore. He would help her - help Snape - if anyone would. Dumbledore was the one to whom her mentor reported, both as a teacher and as a spy; he was also, Maud sensed, the closest thing Snape had to a father. If she could only get to him before it was too late!

Fingertips brushing the wall, she counted her footsteps, moving as rapidly as she dared. _Fifty-three, fifty-four - and left._ At the next turning, it was right: and then she had to go up a narrow staircase of seventeen steps, carefully avoiding the sixth, which had an unfortunate tendency to flatten out and leave the unwary student sprawling.

The entrance to Dumbledore's office was thirty-eight paces from the top of the stairs, behind a stone gargoyle. Maud put her hand on the statue's rough head, forcing herself to take deep breaths, to think rationally. The last time she had visited here, the password had been...

"Treacle fudge," she said.

There was no response, but Maud had not really expected one: of course Dumbledore would have changed the password by now. She tried the names of several other confections, ranging from the delectable to the grotesque. None of them worked. With mounting frustration she gripped the gargoyle with both hands and began rattling off the names of every kind of food and drink she could think of: still nothing.

"Pumpkin juice," she said hoarsely. "Black pudding. Bouillabaisse-"

"Maud?"

The voice was George's, and it sounded uncharacteristically serious. Maud froze, wondering if it was safe to talk to him, but he anticipated her:

"It's all right, there's no one about. What are you doing here?"

"I have to talk to the Headmaster," she said shakily. "Right now. It's important."

"Dumbledore's not in his office. He's not even at Hogwarts. Look, Maud, I-"

"Not... here?" Even her worst fears had not included this. She had seen Dumbledore in the Great Hall at supper: there had been no reason to think that he planned to go away tonight. There was, of course, the possibility that he had gone to find Snape. But she dared not risk her mentor's life on a possibility.

There was nothing else for it. Maud had to go out, into the cold and the sleet and all the dangers of the forbidden forest, by herself. As soon as Athena got back, she'd-

George's hand came down, gently, on her shoulder. "I'm really sorry," he said, and taking her hand he laid something small and soft into the palm. It was warm, but utterly limp, and her fingers could detect no heartbeat.

"Athena," she whispered.


	4. Without Rest

"I don't know why she came to me instead of you," said George. "I was just heading for the Portrait Hole when she dropped out of nowhere and landed at my feet. When I picked her up, she was already dead..."

Maud bowed her head over her cupped hands, holding Athena's tiny, lifeless body against her heart. The signs had all been there, she thought miserably. Why hadn't she seen them?

"...and I knew I had to find you, tell you. There's a map of Hogwarts - Harry's got it now - that can show you where anybody is..." An awkward pause. "So I came."

Her throat was still too tight to let her speak. She nodded.

"Do you think... did someone do this to her?"

Maud shook her head. Athena was no longer young, and between the shock of being caught in Muriel's hex and the unaccustomed effort of flying in the cold and rain, her heart had simply given out. She must have known she was dying, to have gone to George. Finding him had been Athena's parting gift to her mistress, a final act of loyalty and love.

Slowly Maud drew her wand, held it suspended over the little owl's body. _"Petrificus corpus,"_ she whispered, and the soft feathers stiffened into stone. Now nothing could harm Athena, and she would be safe here until Maud could return and give her a proper burial. Carefully, though gentleness was no longer necessary, Maud stooped and laid her down between the gargoyle's paws. Then, blinking back her tears, she turned to George.

"Help me," she said hoarsely. "Please. Athena knew - I've got to get to the Owlery."

For a moment George hesitated, and she feared he was about to argue with her, or at least ask awkward questions. But then she heard his shoes scuff against the stone as he moved toward her, and his arm slipped around her shoulders.

"All right," he said. "Let's go."

Gratefully she clung to him as he led her down the corridor away from Dumbledore's office. His arm felt surprisingly strong, hard with muscle and not at all like Snape's leaner, wiry frame. She supposed it must be from all that Quidditch - George and Fred were Beaters, if she remembered correctly, which meant a lot of heavy hitting. Or at least it had done, until Umbridge banned them from the game.

Which reminded her... she might as well tell him now. Anything to get her mind off what had just happened, or what she was about to do. "A couple of days ago," she said quietly as he guided her up a set of creaking wooden stairs, "you asked me why I don't come out to any Quidditch matches."

"What?" said George, clearly nonplussed. "Oh, that - it's nothing. Forget it."

"No, I owe you an explanation." In fact it was the least of what she owed him, especially after this: but it was a start. "I did try to watch Quidditch once or twice, when I was young. But Athena could never figure out where to look. She kept following the wrong players, or getting distracted by a Bludger when someone else was catching the Snitch. And of course there was no way to explain the game to her. The whole thing was just an exercise in frustration for both of us. So I gave up."

"Daft git," said George in a disgusted tone, clearly meaning himself. "I should have thought of that my- "

The word trailed off in a hiss: he jerked her behind him, into a narrow embrasure. For one wild second Maud wondered what was going on; then she heard voices coming down the corridor toward them. She held her breath as they came nearer:

"I've told you, Minerva, it's not our place to interfere." It was Professor Flitwick. "If Dumbledore wants to address the issue, no doubt he will-"

"Headmaster Dumbledore," said McGonagall's voice crisply, "has quite enough on his mind these days. As do we all, without this sort of nonsense going on. When Severus returns-"

"You're going to tell him?" Flitwick sounded alarmed. "Do you really think it wise?"

"Of course I do. He's the one who'll have to deal with it, after all..."

They turned the corner, and Maud could feel the taut muscles in George's back relax as the professors' voices faded into silence.

"All right," he whispered to her. "Coast clear." Looping his arm around her waist, he pulled her out of the alcove and they hurried on.

"What were they talking about, do you think?" asked Maud, although she had a sinking suspicion that she already knew.

"Dunno. Some Slytherin or other, probably-" George stopped. _"You're_ not the one in trouble, are you? Am I assisting in a felony?"

"No," said Maud. _At least,_ she added to herself, _not yet._

"Pity," said George. Then, in a hopeful tone, "Do you think we could commit one anyway?"

He was teasing her, she knew, trying to lighten her mood. No doubt he thought the best thing would be to take her mind off Athena, give her something to laugh about; and ordinarily, he would have been right. But he didn't know about Snape, lying alone in the forest, ragged and bleeding and no doubt frozen half to death-

"Hey," said George. He crooked a finger under her chin, lifted her face up. "Don't look like that, Maud. We're almost there. Everything's going to be OK."

It was an obvious cue, and any ordinary young woman, especially one as desperately in need of comfort as Maud was right now, would have closed her eyes and let herself be kissed. George was funny and charming and surprisingly considerate, and there was no reason in the world for Maud to turn her face away...

She turned her face away. "Thank you," she said softly.

George took it in stride, as she had known he would. "Distressed damsels our speciality," he said in a jaunty tone, and she heard the creak of old hinges as he pushed open another door.

That it was the door to the Owlery became immediately plain, as the stale reek of bird droppings assaulted Maud's nostrils. She coughed and rubbed her face against her sleeve as George led her into the cold and draughty room.

"Now what?" asked George.

"I need an owl," she said. "The smallest you can find, but one that looks fairly calm."

"All right." He let go of her shoulders, and she heard him shuffling about the room, occasionally making disgusted noises as his foot hit a slippery spot. "Flipping 'eck, it's freezing up here."

Maud hugged herself, shivering, and waited until he came stumbling back to her. "Found one," he said. "I'm not sure if it's calm or comatose, but here it is." With gentle fingers he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then set the owl down on her shoulder. Its talons gripped her, bigger than Athena's and no doubt sharper as well; but the bird sat its new perch lightly, and she felt no pain.

Now, she thought, for the moment of truth. She had never tried this before with an untrained bird: in the absence of the special magical preparations that had made Athena a successful seeing-eye owl, the linking spell might work poorly, or erratically, or not at all. Maud raised her wand, swung it in a circle around her head, and said in a clear voice, _"Iungo."_

A few awful seconds passed in darkness. _It's not working,_ thought Maud frantically, and then, _but it has to. It has to._

Light glimmered at the edges of her vision, then began to spread, like the dawning of a ghostly sun. The image that painted itself across her mind, little by little, was dark and indistinct - a round tower room lined with shadowy perches - and seemed strangely dislocated, as though she were looking at the world from an unfamiliar angle.

The new owl must be taller, she realised. This would take some getting used to. And the link between them was primitive at best: when she turned to look at George, she could barely make out his features. She could only hope that her vision would become more acute with time.

"It worked," she said, putting her hand into George's and squeezing it gratefully. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Are you going to be OK?" he asked, his brows knitted in concern. "You're white as an ashwinder. For a minute there I thought you were going to faint."

"I'm all right. Just... thank you." She hesitated, then leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. "I won't forget this."

George grinned, his teeth a white flash in the half-light. "No worries. Neither will I."

Maud turned to go then, but he caught her arm. "Wait a minute," he said. "Where are you going?"

Part of her longed desperately to tell him, to enlist his help. To venture out alone, half blind, into the darkness, searching for a man who was at least seriously injured and perhaps - _no, don't think it_ \- dead, knowing that even once she found him it would be a long and painful journey back to Hogwarts, was almost unbearable.

But if her suspicions were right, and Snape's injuries were the result of covert activity, he would not want anyone to know that he had been hurt. And showing up to rescue Snape with George Weasley in tow would betray her alliance with both men - not only to each other, but possibly to the rest of Hogwarts as well. She could just imagine Snape trying to explain _that_ one to Voldemort.

Despairing, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, George. I can't tell you. But there's not another moment to lose - please - just let me go." When his grip failed to loosen she added frantically, "Some day, soon, I swear I'll do my best to repay your kindness to me. But not now. Not- NOW!"

With all her strength she wrenched free of his grasp, flung herself through the door (alarmed, the owl flapped its wings and hooted a protest) and clattered down the stairs, her black robes flying behind her. " _Accio_ cloak," she panted as she ran. " _Accio_ muffler. _Accio_ gloves."

What Maud's dorm-mates might think when her trunk flew open and her possessions began zooming out of the room, she tried not to imagine. But it would hardly do Snape any good if they _both_ froze to death.

George must have finally got the picture, because he didn't seem to be following her. Maud slowed down as she neared the front doors of Hogwarts, relieved to see the garments she had Summoned gliding toward her. She caught the cloak in mid-air, swirled it around her shoulders, and flung the green-and-silver Slytherin muffler about her throat. Then she shoved the doors open and stepped out into the cold.

#

_"That's enough!"_

_Alastor Moody's voice cracked through the room like thunder, taking Maud by surprise. She barely had time to look up at him before he seized her arm in a bear-like grip and wrenched her to her feet._

_"Uncle-?"_

_"Don't argue with me, girl! I'm sick of your lies." Inexorably he propelled her toward the door, his wooden leg thumping like a magistrate's gavel. "You might be able to get around Dumbledore, but don't think for one instant that you can fool me!"_

_Belatedly realising the part he intended her to play, Maud began to struggle against his grasp. "You can't do this!" she gasped. "My parents-"_

_"-would shudder in their graves," Mad-Eye raged theatrically, "if they knew what a poisonous little serpent their daughter had become! Don't talk to me about responsibility, girl. You've come of age now; I'm done with you. And good riddance!"_

_He shoved her out on the step, so hard that she staggered and nearly fell. She could see the next-door neighbour's curtains twitching as her uncle continued to shout in a voice loud enough to be heard the full length of the street:_

_"Get out! OUT! And so help me, if you ever try to come back-!"_

_Then the door slammed, and she was alone._

_#_

The moon had finally battled free of the clouds, and the icy rain was slowing. The grass crunched beneath Maud's feet as she ran across the grounds and down the long slope toward the Forbidden Forest.

For all she knew, Umbridge or one of her spies might be watching from the windows of Hogwarts: but she had no time to spare on concealment. Already her preparations had taken too long, and Snape might even now be breathing his last. The thought made her stomach clench, and she redoubled her pace.

She slowed down as she neared Hagrid's hut. Firelight glowed warmly through the windows, and the owner's huge, hairy silhouette was visible inside. Did she dare to involve Hagrid? Though she had only met the half-giant a couple of times, she had sensed that in his own way he was a friend to Snape: at times he even appeared to regard him with a sort of proprietary affection, as though Snape were some fabulous monster. But on the other hand, although Hagrid seemed kind-hearted, he was not renowned for discretion...

Maud wrapped the cloak more tightly about her shoulders and hurried on.

The moment she set foot in the forest she wished she hadn't. The trees loomed above her, their black, bony arms intertwined so closely that they blocked all but a few dim rays of moonlight. Maud had taken only a few steps before she stumbled and twisted her ankle, nearly falling headlong before she could grab an overhanging branch to right herself. This was madness, she thought frantically. The forest was too dark, the visual link was too weak - she'd never find Snape at this rate.

She limped forward a few more feet before the extent of her own stupidity became clear. Disgusted with herself for not thinking of it before, she wrestled her wand free of her robes, held it up and said, _"Lumos."_

Radiance burst from the wand, a shimmering silver light that lit up the path in front of her. She caught a glimpse of startled yellow eyes as some small creature bounded out of her way and vanished among the trees; above, a rook flapped and croaked before settling back onto its perch.

There were unicorns in this wood, and centaurs; but there were also a good many creatures more savage, and the forest was not forbidden without reason. Still, when Athena had made her first flying survey of the place, Maud had seen nothing to fear. Perhaps most of the creatures were hibernating, or at least curled up somewhere warm. After all, only a singularly determined monster - or a singularly desperate young woman - would be out on a night like this.

She had a rough idea of the direction in which Snape could be found: but in her flight through the forest Athena had paid little regard to paths, and it was difficult for Maud to anticipate where a given trail might lead. Twice she started down a promising-looking route, only to have it curve off in an unexpected direction and force her into retreat. At last, frustrated nearly to the point of tears, she stopped, turned, and looked back the way she had come, thinking she might have to go back and find Hagrid after all.

Unless...

Maud laid her wand on her open palm and said, _"Praemonstro_ Severus Snape!"

The wand spun around in a circle and came to rest pointing away from the path - into the thickest part of the brush. For a moment Maud hesitated: then, with a sigh, she hiked up her robes and began trudging through the undergrowth.

"Reducto!"

she said, swinging the wand in front of her like a machete, and kicking the blackened remnants of the bushes out of her way. _"Reducto! Reducto!"_

Even with the help of magic it was no easy task to cut a new trail, and by the time Maud reached her destination, she was exhausted. She blasted aside the final obstacle - a nasty-looking patch of thorns - and was just stepping into the clearing when her weary feet betrayed her. She caught her toe on a root, tripped, and landed ignominiously on her hands and knees.

"Twenty... points from... Slytherin," said a weak but audible voice from the ground next to her. "I am... extremely disappointed... in you... Miss Moody."

Maud nearly collapsed with relief. She crawled over to him, took his limp, cold hand in both of hers, and asked shakily, "Is that for going into the forest, being out after curfew, or defacing the Hogwarts grounds?"

She could barely make out Snape's features in the dark, but he appeared to be considering. At last he said, "You're right... fifty."

His pulse felt erratic beneath her fingers, and his skin was icy cold. As she wrapped her arms and her cloak around him, he shivered uncontrollably, and no wonder: he was soaked to the skin. "I'm a fool," she said furiously. "I should have brought Hagrid-"

"No," said Snape through chattering teeth. "No Hagrid."

Maud looked down at him anxiously. Snape might be thin, but he was heavier than she was, especially with those sodden robes: there was no way she could lift him off the ground. Apparating was out of the question. There was a stretcher and warm blankets in the Hogwarts infirmary, but she wasn't up to Summoning them from such a distance. If it were only a case of transporting Snape, she could cast a simple _mobilicorpus_ ; but he needed her close, to keep him warm. So...

"Levo,"

she whispered, and felt his body lighten. Gently she began to pull him up to his feet.

Unfortunately, she wasn't quite gentle enough. Snape convulsed against her and retched, a horrible dry sound that told her it wasn't the first time he had done so. Then his muscles went slack as he lost consciousness.

That was it, thought Maud. Forget being careful: what she needed now was speed. Dragging Snape along with her, she struggled back toward the trail.

The next half-hour was like something from a nightmare, only she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a dream this bad. It seemed to take forever to get anywhere, and Snape went in and out of consciousness every few minutes, which never failed to terrify her. Each time his head slumped, she was sure that he was dead. After all, if she were damp and shivering in spite of her cloak, and if the mere effort of finding him had worn her out, how much worse must he feel?

Once or twice some shadowy beast crossed their path, turning to regard them with luminous eyes, and Maud went rigid with fear. But in the end, the creatures only skulked away.

She almost wept with relief when at last the path turned, the trees parted, and she glimpsed the glowing windows of the groundskeeper's hut. She longed to rush up to the door and hammer it down, then collapse gratefully on Hagrid's welcome mat: but Snape had already put paid to that idea. On the other hand, if she tried to drag Snape all the way up to Hogwarts and through the halls to his chamber, they were sure to be intercepted en route, which would be even worse. There seemed to be only one solution. If she could get Hagrid out of the cottage for a couple of minutes, just long enough to use his fireplace...

Snape's head drooped against her shoulder; she could hear his shallow breathing in her ear. If she didn't get him warm soon, he'd go into shock. Maud gathered the last of her magical strength, pointed her wand at the sky, and cried _"Draco praestigium!"_

As a bit of illusion-casting it was impressive: a silvery-green dragon unfurled itself from her wand, spread its wings, and gave a melodious roar. From her hiding place by the woodpile, Maud saw Hagrid's huge shadow blotting out the firelight as he leapt to his feet.

"I'm comin', sweetheart! Don' go - wait fer me!"

An instant later he lumbered out the door, looking wildly around in all directions for a sign of his precious dragon. Maud flicked her wand, and the illusory Welsh Green let out a thin spout of flame, circled the cottage, then flapped away toward the forest. Enraptured, Hagrid followed it.

Maud waited until the half-giant had vanished among the trees, and the crashing sounds of his progress through the brush could no longer be heard. Then, still clutching Snape in an awkward embrace, she struggled up the pathway to the hut.

No sooner had she pushed the door open, however, when Hagrid's massive boarhound leaped up with a bark. Maud gripped Snape convulsively, appalled by the realisation that they must both reek of blood; but after one initial fearsome growl, the dog merely sniffed them both up and down before sitting back on his haunches.

Snape must have been here before, Maud thought with relief as she dragged her mentor across the threshold. Either that, or the dog had an unusual degree of discernment when it came to telling friend from foe. In any case, the boarhound seemed satisfied: even when she was forced to shove him aside with her foot, he offered no resistance.

Hagrid had built an enormous fire, which filled the whole cottage with warmth. As she neared the blaze, Maud felt her numb fingers and toes beginning to ache. That, and weariness, made her clumsy: she tripped over the hearthrug before she could catch herself, and dumped Snape unceremoniously on the floor.

But even then her mentor did not flinch, only rolled onto his back and lay there unmoving. His hair was a matted tangle of ice and blood, his skin the colour of bone. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he was still alive.

He was so cold, she thought anxiously. More than anything she wanted to grab a pile of blankets and lie down beside him until he woke. But they couldn't stay here: Hagrid would be back at any moment. She rose from her crouched position and ran her hands along the mantelpiece.

It did not take her long to find the jar of Floo powder, although the lid was dusty and it appeared to be little used. With Umbridge watching the fires, this was a risk; but Maud could see no alternative. Besides, the Ministry was surely more worried about people using the Floo network for illicit communications outside Hogwarts than for simple travel within it?

Taking a handful of the glittering dust, Maud tossed it into the fire. Then, as the flames turned emerald and leaped up with a roar, she bent and slung Snape's limp arm around her shoulders.

"Professor Snape's bedchamber at Hogwarts," she said, as clearly as she could, and stepped forward.

There was a momentary rush of heat, followed by the familiar dark tunnel of Floo travel. A line of grates whipped past her at dizzying speed, then came a sudden bump and she fell forward, out of a strange cold hearth into an equally unfamiliar room.

Beside her, Snape shifted and muttered something unintelligible. "It's all right," she whispered. "You're home now. I'm here. It's all right."

Snape's chamber was an austere sort of place: meticulously neat, well furnished and certainly adequate for the purpose, but by no means attractive or welcoming. Still, the bed looked comfortable enough. With a last effort Maud heaved him onto it, and arranged the pillows and blankets around him as best she could.

There was a wash-stand by the window, and the water in the jug smelled fresh. With a soft word and a tap of her wand she warmed it, then carried the pitcher to the bedside and began, carefully, to wash the filth from Snape's face and hair. It did not take her long to find the source of the blood that had so alarmed her: an inch-long gash in his scalp, just behind the right temple. It was less deep than she had feared, however, and the worst of the bleeding had stopped.

Gingerly she pulled back the blankets that covered Snape, looking for more injuries. His robes were stained in several places, but at present there was no way to tell whether the dark patches were blood or dirt or just damp. Well, she told herself, he wouldn't be wearing these clothes again anyway. Steeling her nerve, she took hold of his robes at the throat and ripped them open.

An instant later her wrist was seized in a grip like cold iron, and a voice said, faint and husky with pain but nonetheless quite distinct, "I think not."

She jumped, heat rushing into her face. "You're wounded-"

"Bruises. A cracked rib." He drew a shuddering breath, grimaced and let it go. "Or two. No more."

"But your robes- the blood-"

"Not nearly as bad as it looks." He raised a hand to his temple, winced as his fingers brushed raw flesh. "But this-"

She frowned and bent closer, trying to see whether his pupils were uneven, but it was hard to tell in this light. His eyes were half-lidded, glittering black; they watched her without expression. "Do you remember how you injured your head?" she asked.

"Not... at the moment."

Maud sat back on her heels. "You've been going in and out of consciousness, and when I tried to move you the first time, you were sick." Snape shifted his shoulders as though about to rise: she put a hand on his chest to hold him down. His skin felt clammy beneath her palm. "Don't move."

He blinked at her. His pupils _were_ uneven, she saw that now. And he seemed bemused, which was another bad sign. Under ordinary conditions Snape had wits like a dagger and a tongue no less sharp, but now it took him several seconds to reply. "Miss Moody," he said. "Were you _ever_ a child?"

"Ask my uncle."

Snape appeared to consider this. "I will," he said. "Next time. If there is one. Not that it's likely."

This would be a terse and cryptic speech from most patients, but for Snape it came dangerously close to babbling. Maud laid a hand on his forehead. "Rest," she said. "Don't talk. I'm going to brew you something for your concussion; I'll be right here if you need me."

A half-smile flickered across his mouth. "Miss Groggins would have something to say about this."

"Miss Groggins," said Maud with more than usual acidity, "can go hang herself."

Snape did not reply. She gave him a sharp look, but his eyes were still open, so she rose and went to the fireplace. The house-elves had left an ample stack of wood: she had only to point her wand and murmur _"Incendio."_

Strong black tea as a base, she thought as she gazed into the growing flames, with a drop of runespoor egg-yolk if she could get it. Valerian to ward off shock, but not too much. Prodigiosa for headache, ginseng for alertness, and boneset for those ribs. Then some comfrey paste to put on his cuts and scratches...

As she had expected, most of the ingredients she wanted were in Snape's cupboards, and it was not hard to compensate for the others. Glancing back at intervals to make sure that her patient was still awake, she finished brewing the tea and carried it over to him.

"Can you sit up?" she asked.

Snape said nothing, so she put a hand on his arm. He was still shivering, and no wonder: even with the blankets and a good roaring fire, those damp rags he was wearing weren't doing him any good. For a moment Maud debated arguing with him: then with sudden decisiveness she set the tea down on the night-table, turned her back, and cast three spells over her shoulder in rapid succession. Snape made an outraged noise, but when she dared to turn around again, he was lying flat on his back with the blankets around his shoulders, and the tattered remnants of his robes were draped over the wash-stand.

"Stop grousing," she told him severely. "What did you think I was going to do, ravish you?"

Something of the old spark came back into Snape's eyes. With an effort he turned toward her and raised himself on one elbow, reaching out to take the cup she offered. "If that remark was meant to be humiliating," he said, sipping at the hot tea, "you'll need to try harder."

Maud dabbed comfrey on his temple, making him wince - or perhaps it was just the taste of the tea. "I can't think why I might want to humiliate you," she said. "Heaven knows you've never done such a thing to me... or lied to me, or manipulated me..."

"I have never lied to you." His voice was still hoarse, but there was a fierceness in it that surprised her. "And if I have at times omitted the truth, I have always given you the means to discover it for yourself."

"Such as sending me down to the library to learn the Hebrew alphabet?" Maud whisked the blankets down to his waist and began smearing comfrey on a long scrape running down his side. "I appreciated that."

"Maud," he began, and then stopped. In an altered tone he asked, "Where is Athena?"

Her fingers stopped moving. She swallowed, feeling the resurgence of a grief too long denied. "She's dead."

"Then..." He narrowed his eyes, as though trying to bring her into focus. "How can you see?"

"You mean you didn't notice the..." she started to say, and then it hit her.

There was no owl on her shoulder, had not been for a long time. It had not even been with her when she put on her cloak to go out. It must have flown back to the Owlery when she ran out the door, leaving George too thunderstruck to chase after her. And she had been too caught up in rescuing Snape to notice.

"I can see," she whispered, scarcely believing it, and then suddenly her tangled emotions were too much for her and she began to cry, huge gasping sobs shaking her whole body, her newly discovered vision swimming into a blur as the tears streamed down her cheeks.


	5. Stand and Wait

Maud must have cried herself to sleep, because when she opened her eyes again the fire had burned low and a cloudless moon was shining through the window. Someone had drawn a blanket over her, and her cheek and her hands were pressed against something warm that rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm; it took her a moment of disoriented blinking before she realised that it was Snape.

Maud jerked upright, horrified by the thought that she must have been leaning on his chest for hours and he had said nothing - had he slipped into a coma while she slept? But one look at his face reassured her. His eyes were still half-lidded, but they glittered with renewed intelligence, and as she moved they flicked to her without hesitation.

"The fractured ribs are on the left side," he said, as though he had read her thoughts. "Otherwise I would have objected. Loudly and profanely, in fact."

The skin beneath her palms was warm now, smooth and velvety. He smelled of comfrey, instead of blood, and the scrapes and cuts across his chest looked less angry. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Alive. Conscious. Both of which are a distinct improvement, and for which you have my gratitude." He paused, a strange glint in his eyes. "Although you ought to be aware that I was not joking about taking points from Slytherin."

"I know."

One dark eyebrow lifted. "No protests? No arguments?"

"No." She let her hands slide from his chest, pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders and sat back. "I broke Hogwarts rules, after all. I didn't do it lightly, but I did it nonetheless. And by now a lot of people must know I was out of the castle after hours - if you didn't take those points away, somebody else would. So..." She gave a little shrug. "I'll just have to deal with the consequences."

"Consequences that affect you personally are one thing: consequences that affect your House are another." He narrowed his eyes. "Your fellow Slytherins will not soon forgive you for this."

It was not a pleasant thought, but even so Maud had to smile. "Would they rather I had saved their place in the house standings by leaving you to die?"

"They won't know about that."

"No," she agreed, gazing into the fire. Then, more softly, "No, they won't. But I will."

There was a long pause. Then he said, with sudden and uncharacteristic urgency, _"Maud."_

His voice was like honey and thunder. Startled, she looked back at him, and the intensity of his gaze took her breath away.

"What I want to know is," she said shakily before he could speak, "who loses when _you_ break the rules?"

He accepted the interruption with a wry smile. "Touché, Miss Moody. The answer, of course, is Professor Dumbledore. Which is precisely why I don't intend to do it."

"I see," said Maud. Her throat was dry. "And that explains the incident with the feather, does it?"

He reached out, drawing a strand of hair away from her face. "That was... questionable, I admit. But it was not done without reason."

She knew, or at least thought she knew, what he meant. "If your intention was to ensure that I'd be thinking about you and waiting anxiously for your return," she said, "making me stir that potion of yours every five hours would have been more than enough. And speaking of which, I hope it wasn't anything dangerous, because I think it must have overflowed by now."

"By now," said Snape, "it will have turned into glue. Never mind the potion." His fingers drifted down to her cheek. "What is this?"

Maud had almost forgotten about the bruise. "I... had an encounter with Muriel. I..."

"You're frightened." He drew back his hand. "What have you done?"

That was it. Her self-control snapped, and the words came tumbling out. "What have _you_ done, is more to the point! Muriel taunted me with another of her rubbishy stories about us, but this time it sounded as though she actually knew something. I thought she must have spied on us making the Dissolving Solution, that she had seen... what you did. And by the time I realised I'd been wrong, I'd already betrayed myself - you. She threatened to report you to Umbridge, and I had to - I used - I know it's not really considered wrong, but I hate it-"

"You cast Obliviate on her." His voice was flat.

She nodded miserably.

"Did your uncle tell you how I feel about that spell? He would know."

"Yes." Now that she had started confessing, it was hard to stop. "He believed... he feared... that my dislike of it came from you."

Snape threw back his head and laughed. "The suspicious old dog! No wonder he was so furious."

"It's not funny," Maud protested. "Do you have any idea-" She stopped. "Furious? When?"

"When I talked to him a few hours ago," said Snape, and leaned back against the pillows.

For a moment Maud simply stared at him. Then she said, "Don't tell me _he_ did this to you." Alastor Moody had always been kind to his niece, but in general he was not renowned for tolerance. If Snape had caught him at the wrong time, approached him in the wrong way-

"Not all of it, no. He did manage to get in a few solid hits before I was able to reason with him: but then, he had some provocation."

He paused, obviously savouring the moment, and Maud resisted the urge to strangle him. Instead, she picked up the mug from the bedside table and walked back to the cauldron to refill it. "What kind of provocation?" she asked, selecting jars and bottles from his shelf and adding more ingredients to the tea. He could use another dose by now, and hopefully it would keep him alert enough to finish telling the story. The _whole_ story.

Snape waited until she had handed him the cup and resumed her seat by his bedside before replying. "Provocation enough. While he was out at the pub, I left a bit of rubbish just inside his front gate, which he naturally picked up on his return."

"You Portkeyed my uncle?" She was simultaneously awed and aghast. Unregistered Portkeys were not only dangerous and difficult to create - if Snape had that skill he had probably learned it from Voldemort - but the Ministry would have the wand of any wizard who was caught making one. And although Alastor Moody kept his house guarded by a formidable array of magical foe-detectors and protective charms, Snape's scheme would have taken him entirely by surprise: for none of Mad-Eye's precautions could warn him against someone acting _without_ malicious intent.

He shrugged, as though it were of no particular significance. "I needed a word in private. And since his suspicions about my character and loyalties were such that he would never willingly meet with me alone, I could see no alternative. Of course, no sooner had he arrived at the location - a comfortably remote field - than he jumped to the conclusion that I'd been sent to kill him, and acted accordingly. Your uncle fights like the very devil, by the way."

"I know," said Maud, with a certain grim satisfaction.

"We spent some time lighting up the countryside, while he cast aspersions on my intelligence, my ancestry, and my personal habits. However, eventually it dawned on him that I was not returning fire. It took some time for him to calm down, but at last he agreed to stop hurling jinxes about and listen to what I had to say."

"Which was?"

Snape frowned down at the tea he'd been drinking, as though something about it perplexed him. "Several things," he said at last. "For one, I gave him some information about current Death Eater plans and activities that I knew would interest him, and which he could confirm using his own sources. Your uncle may have retired in name, but he clearly has no intention of sitting on the sidelines." For a moment, he sounded almost appreciative. Then his voice resumed its old sardonic tone and he went on, "I expect him to go out one day in a blaze of peg-legged glory, no doubt taking several blocks' worth of architecture with him.

"At any rate, I then appealed to his vanity by asking him to help me put on a little show for the benefit of my fellow Death Eaters, some of whom did not seem wholly convinced of my allegiance to the Dark Lord. I suggested, obliquely, that you would be safer if my loyalties were not in question, and after expressing his opinion of me in even more colourful and inventive language, he agreed.

"We discussed a few other matters, and seemed to be making progress, when who should appear but Parnaby, one of the Death Eaters I'd been talking about. He'd been following me on the sly ever since I ran into him in Knockturn Alley that morning, no doubt hoping I'd do something traitorous so he could report me. Unfortunately, he chose just that time to decide that I really was on the Dark Lord's side after all, commended me for my cleverness in capturing the notorious Mad-Eye Moody, and begged me for the honour of killing him."

Maud's hands flew to her mouth.

"I was just about to explain that I thought the Dark Lord would enjoy having that pleasure for himself, but your uncle pre-empted me by blasting us both with a particularly inconvenient hex and limping off. Parnaby recovered before I did: he gave chase, and the two of them were going at it hammer and tongs when I was forced to intervene."

He paused then, his gaze darkening. "Of course, after that Parnaby didn't take long to realise whose side I was on. And knowing he was outnumbered, he fought with everything he had, desperate to take at least one of us with him. He... almost succeeded."

"Your head..." Maud's voice was a whisper. "He did that?"

Snape gave a short laugh. "He lobbed a rock at me while I was trying to dodge one of his hexes. Not very sophisticated, but certainly effective." He raised a hand toward his temple, as though to touch the wound; then seemed to think better of it and let it drop. "I should have remembered he'd been a Chaser when he was at Hogwarts, but I was... somewhat distracted at the time."

"So in the end..." She cleared her throat. "Parnaby was captured?"

"Oh, no." His face was grim. "Killed."

Maud's fingers curled into her palm. Part of her wanted to ask who had done the killing; but the rest decided that she didn't really want to know.

Snape continued in a brisker tone, "I knew that the Dark Lord would send someone to investigate, and neither your uncle nor I wished to be there when that happened. We both Apparated away in haste, he to his home and I to the far edge of the forest, which was as close as I could get to Hogwarts without being seen..." He shrugged. "The rest you know."

Maud shook her head. "You're lucky you didn't splinch yourself, on top of everything else. How long were you crawling around the forest before I found you?"

"I don't know." For the first time he seemed uncertain, and he glanced down at his cup again. "It can't have been that long or I would have died of exposure, but it seemed like hours before Athena came with your message... which was, of course, very comforting. _'Where are you?'_ Not exactly sentimental, but at least it gave me something to think about while I was conscious."

She flushed. "I had to write something. I needed a note for Athena to carry so I could see where you were."

His brows lifted. "You used your visual link with her to spy out my location? That was inventive. I wonder why no one's thought of doing that before?"

"I'm sure someone has, but it only works for short distances. And in most cases it probably wouldn't work at all." She paused, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "Athena had been like a part of me for thirteen years. The bond we had was... special."

"I know." For once there was no mockery in his tone.

"She was old, and she wasn't used to much exercise. I should have known her heart would be weak." Maud bowed her head, struggling against a fresh surge of grief. "I should have known."

Snape's hand covered hers, gripped it. "You have no cause to blame yourself. If it were not for me-" Then he stopped, and said in a peculiar voice, "What _did_ you put in this tea?"

She was taken aback. "What?"

"You put a Jobberknoll feather in my tea." He sounded stunned.

With an effort she kept her expression calm, sat back in the chair. "I can't imagine why you would think such a thing."

He flung the mug away from him with a curse: it shattered against the wall. Then, as she stared at him, he started to laugh: a weary, mirthless laughter that went on and on until he collapsed against the pillows, exhausted. "All right, Miss Moody," he gasped. "You have me at your mercy. What do you want to know?"

Wild thoughts chased each other through her head, and for a moment the sheer number of possibilities was overwhelming. But the first question that came out of Maud's mouth was, perversely, one she had almost forgotten until now:

"Why do you hate Harry Potter?"

For a moment Snape was very quiet, and she wondered if he would answer at all. Then he said, slowly, _"Hate_ is not the word that I would choose. I find the boy's behaviour infuriating, his parentage loathsome and his attitude contemptible, but that is nothing compared to my opinion of - others." On the last word his eyes became suddenly fierce, and she wondered who he could be thinking of: then he went on, "I will say this, however.

"During the first war against the Dark Lord, wizards and witches fought and bled and died; they lost homes, loved ones, health and sanity; they performed incredible acts of heroism and self-sacrifice. But in the annals of wizarding history, who receives the credit for the Dark Lord's defeat? _Harry bloody Potter."_ For a moment his voice lost its smoothness, and she heard a rougher, less cultured cadence underneath: then he seemed to remember himself, and went on as before.

"An infant in arms has no right to be called a hero. Potter knew nothing, did nothing. He simply happened to be present when the Dark Lord made a fatal miscalculation. And yet he is petted and praised, even by the very children of those who suffered most, as though he had accomplished something great. That is something I cannot accept."

"But-" Maud was dismayed. "That isn't Harry's fault. Why punish him for it?"

"It was never my intention to _punish_ Potter for the accident of his birth. I did, however, test him to see what he was made of - which leads me to my second reason." He took a deep breath, grimaced at the pain in his ribs. "Like his late father, Potter shows a dangerous tendency to behave as though he is invincible, invulnerable, and somehow above the rules that bind lesser mortals. And that kind of foolishness _I will not tolerate."_ The muscles of his jaw hardened. "Potter may consider himself ill-used, but if he knew it, I am doing him a favour. His father James was so popular, so much admired for his cleverness and his charm and his skill at Quidditch, so surrounded and supported by _loyal_ friends-" his voice drawled sarcastically on the penultimate word- "that he never realised how vulnerable, how fallible, he truly was. And in the end, that misplaced confidence killed him."

"So you're trying to save Harry's life?" She tried to keep the scepticism from her voice, but it crept in nonetheless. "It doesn't seem like a very good way to do it. The harder you come down on him, the more unreasonable he thinks you are."

"Perhaps. But he will not learn by being coddled and praised, either - even if I could muster the hypocrisy to do it. And his anger against me, however juvenile, may yet drive him to excellence. Such things... have been known to happen."

She decided to let this pass, and changed the subject. "All right, then, why are you so harsh with students who break the rules? I know that as a teacher you have to uphold discipline to some extent, but-"

"Lawlessness begins when you start to believe that the only laws that bind you are the ones which you find convenient. It is a small step from that to becoming a law unto yourself." He looked at her levelly. "Have you seen anarchy? I have. At first it seems liberating, but eventually it becomes tedious, and you long for the return of order. But having rejected the rule of conscience, the only law that can hold you is the law of brute force. That was what the Dark Lord represented. Represents."

Maud was silent, weighing his words. At last she said, "But if I hadn't broken Hogwarts rules tonight, what would have happened to you?"

"What you did was not lawless, Maud. You simply set aside a lesser law for a greater one. The important thing was that in the end, the law you chose to follow was not one of your own invention, nor did you do it for your own convenience. Unfortunately-" His mouth twitched. "Not every student understands that distinction. Which is why the rules of Hogwarts must be upheld, and every infraction punished accordingly."

Maud could think of numerous exceptions Snape had made to that principle, particularly where Quidditch or certain well-connected Slytherins were involved, but she nodded.

"Professor Dumbledore may be merciful if he chooses," said Snape. "I am not accustomed to showing mercy... any more than I am to receiving it."

The roughness in his voice made her look up, concerned. He looked exhausted, she realised: there were black shadows under his eyes, and the lines around his mouth had deepened. More than anything, he needed to rest, and here she was making him defend his life's philosophy.

"Go to sleep," she said, putting a hand on his forehead. "You haven't lost consciousness for at least three hours now; the danger should be past. I'll be here if you need me."

"Oh, come now, Miss Moody." He gave a faint, mocking smile. "You must have more questions than that. You had better ask them now: you won't have a chance like this again."

"Won't I?" She rose from her seat, went to pick up the shattered fragments of the mug he had thrown. "I don't think it'll be that hard. All I need to do is catch you in a confessional mood, and let you pretend I've put a Jobberknoll feather in your tea."

Snape raised himself up on his elbows. "You mean you lied about-"

"To borrow a phrase, I have never lied to you. I merely followed your example, as any good apprentice ought to do, and refrained from explaining the truth."

For another moment he stared at her in disbelief: then he fell back against the pillows and laughed, the first genuine, spontaneous laughter she had heard from him all night. She watched in fascination as he chuckled - an unexpectedly warm, throaty sound from a man so naturally reserved - and the harsh planes of his face relaxed, making him look much younger. It was almost, she thought, like looking at the Snape that might have been, or might yet be one day, in a world without Voldemort.

"Maud," he said when he could speak, "Come here. Please."

It was the first time she could ever remember hearing Snape saying _please_ to anyone. She put down the pieces of pottery and walked back to the bedside.

"Tell me," he said. The smile faded, and his eyes held hers, level and unblinking. "The truth, all of it: do you love me?"

Her heart flipped over like an hourglass, and time stopped. _Do you love me?_ It was a question she had never expected him to ask, not in so many words. Nor had she ever imagined she would have to tell him the answer. And yet, in that moment, all the tangled thoughts and emotions of the past week seemed to unknot themselves, and her response came without further need for thought:

"You are not in the least loveable," she said, returning his gaze with a steadiness she did not feel. "You are sarcastic and high-handed and maddeningly indirect; you leave your hair greasy and your teeth yellow for reasons I cannot fathom; you appear to have no life outside of Hogwarts and no one seems to trust you but Dumbledore; you blinded me when I was four and might have inadvertently bewitched me as well, a possibility which has caused me some serious consternation... and yes, I love you. Not because you made me love you - I know that now, even if my uncle doesn't - or because I wanted to love you. But because I choose to love you, and because I know that you need me to love you, whether you are prepared to admit it or not."

She finished the last sentence in a rush, and stood waiting for the axe to fall. He could send her away now, if he chose: and given what he had said about rules, he probably would. Last night he had tested her with a griffin feather, and she had failed; tonight he had put his life in her hands, and she had refused to take it. If what he wanted from her was a cold façade and a ruthless expedience that matched his own, he would have to look elsewhere: Maud knew what she was, now, and she was not an extension of Snape. Nor would she ever be.

Snape nodded, as though it were what he had expected. "Thank you," he said. "And now, I will ask you to do something for me."

Maud took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Will you step aside, so I can speak to the Headmaster?"

For a moment Maud stared at him, unable to believe her ears. Then, very slowly, she turned around.

Dumbledore was standing behind her, his hands folded into the sleeves of his starry robe. His eyes looked weary behind his half-moon spectacles, and his mouth was grave. "It is very late, Miss Moody," he said. "Or perhaps I should say, very early. I trust you have an explanation?"


	6. To Prevent That Murmur

As Dumbledore regarded her soberly, Maud felt herself going hot and cold and white and pink all at once. He must have heard her answer to Snape: her only hope was that he had also heard the question. Otherwise, it would look as though she had burst in here in the middle of the night to swear her undying love - a thought more humiliating than anything Muriel could possibly come up with.

"I-" she started to say, but Snape was quicker.

"Headmaster," he said, "I take full responsibility for the... irregularity of this situation. Miss Moody saved my life tonight, and her presence here has been solely in a medical capacity, I assure you."

He sounded, thought Maud with surprise, almost anxious. She glanced back at Snape, and saw the strain on his face; his eyes were uncharacteristically imploring.

"I believe you, Severus," said Dumbledore gently. "However, now that I am here, I think it would be best if Miss Moody were to-"

"Don't make me leave."

The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back, and she flushed again as both men looked at her. "It's just," she said, "I can't- I have to know-"

Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. "I was about to say, it might be best if you would step aside and allow me to see what I can do for Severus. He will have to teach in a few hours, after all, and it would be unfortunate if anyone were to notice his injuries."

"Oh," she said weakly. "Yes, of course."

Dumbledore came forward, drawing a crystalline phial from his sleeve. Carefully, even tenderly, he turned Snape's head to the side so that the gash above his temple was exposed, and let a single drop fall from the bottle onto the ugly wound. "Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Broken ribs," said Snape. "The rest are mere bruises and scratches - my robes will hide them."

The Headmaster nodded. "Very well. Open your mouth, Severus," and when Snape obeyed he tipped another of the pearly drops onto his tongue. Snape swallowed, and some colour came back into his face.

"Now," said Dumbledore, "I suggest that you get some sleep. Miss Moody and I have some matters to discuss."

"Headmaster," said Snape. "Was there- anything for me?"

Dumbledore's eyes creased faintly in a smile. "I believe I have what you are looking for, yes. But it will wait until you are in a position to appreciate it. Now sleep," and he laid a hand on Snape's forehead. When he took it away a moment later, Snape's eyes were closed.

"Well, Miss Moody," said Dumbledore in a brisker tone, taking her arm and leading her to a seat in the corner, "you have had quite an evening, as I understand. But first..." He drew a small round object out of his sleeve and laid it in her palm.

Maud knew without looking what he had given her. She closed her fingers around Athena's body, caressing the stony feathers, before slipping the little owl into the pocket of her robes. "Sir," she said. "Where were you?"

"I received an urgent summons from a friend," said Dumbledore. "I apologise that I was not there when you came to my office, but not even I can be in two places at once... and I had reason to believe that Severus would be in good hands."

"Is my uncle all right?"

Dumbledore's brows shot up: he gave her a piercing glance through his spectacles. "I see," he said. "Well, then, since you appear to know nearly as much about the situation as I do, the answer is yes. He was a little overexcited, and had a fine assortment of bumps and bruises, but otherwise he did not seem to have come to any harm."

Maud closed her eyes in relief.

"We had quite a talk, Alastor and I," mused Dumbledore. "As did he and Severus, I understand, before Albert interrupted them."

"Albert?"

"Albert Parnaby." Dumbledore sighed. "Another promising young life wasted in the service of the wrong master." His eyes flicked over to Snape's silent, motionless figure. "Albert was a student here only a few years ago: I knew him well. His father owns a shop in Knockturn Alley, but Severus and I believed there might yet be hope..."

Until now, Maud had envisioned Parnaby as a middle-aged man, hardened by years of service to Voldemort. The realisation that he had been only a little older than herself, and that Snape had taught him just as he had taught her, made her stomach lurch. How must Snape have felt, having to kill him?

"It is fortunate that you were with Severus tonight," said Dumbledore quietly, as though he had read her thoughts. "Even had he not been injured, it would not have been good for him to be alone. Miss Moody-"

She looked up.

"I will not pretend that I did not overhear your words as I came in. But neither will I condemn you for them. In fact I agree with you: Severus does need to be loved. And if you truly have chosen to love him in spite of his faults, you can give him no greater gift."

Maud gave him a wan smile to show she appreciated the encouragement; but inside she was thinking: _Here it comes._

"And..." said Dumbledore thoughtfully.

She stiffened, preparing herself for the worst.

"...I have reason to believe that he knows it. Be patient with him, Maud. He has been alone a long time, and trust does not come to him easily."

All right, thought Maud, _now_ it comes.

But it didn't. Dumbledore folded his hands together and sat twiddling his thumbs, humming a faint, melancholy tune. It was evident that he had finished what he had come to say - but that seemed impossible. Where was the lecture on responsibility, the warning about the importance of a good reputation, the stern reminder of Hogwarts rules? Obscurely, Maud felt cheated.

"Sir," she said at last, "aren't I in trouble?"

"Do you think you ought to be, Miss Moody?"

"Well... yes."

He smiled gently. "As it happens, I noticed on my return that Severus had committed the unprecedented act of taking points from his own house. For the crime of venturing into the forest after hours - a violation which seems to be committed with depressing regularity of late - I believe fifty points will be more than sufficient. Of course, there is the matter of..."

Maud held her breath.

"...your rescue of Severus. That was an act of courage, loyalty and self-sacrifice such as I have rarely seen in a member of Slytherin House, and were it not necessary to keep the details of your heroism - and the need for it - a secret, I would gladly award points to your credit. But as it stands..."

He spoke, thought Maud, as though he had witnessed the events of that night firsthand, or at least knew the whole story. But if he had known Snape needed rescuing, then why hadn't he done it himself? Or at least helped somehow?

Because,

echoed her uncle's voice in her mind, _I knew I might not always be there for you..._

Her mind recoiled from the thought. She pushed it away and forced herself back to attention just in time to hear Dumbledore say, "Alas, I fear you are about to become even less popular among your fellow Slytherins than you already are."

"I don't think that's possible," said Maud.

"Oh, but it is. After this night they will no longer be able to pity you as they did before, nor will they find it quite so convenient to ignore you. You see - and I trust you will forgive that inadvertent bit of wordplay - you are no longer blind."

She looked over at him sharply; his smile broadened. "My dear young woman," he said, "even if you had not left Athena on my doorstep, I could hardly have failed to notice. I had been wondering what it might take to convince your mind to accept what your heart already knew: now, it would seem, we have found out."

"I... I'm still not sure I understand."

"Oh, I think you do, Miss Moody - or at least, you suspect. There are at least two reasonable explanations for why your blindness continued even after you and Severus perfected your nerve-regenerating potion." He ticked them off on his fingers. "One was that Athena had been a part of you so long, it was impossible for you to imagine seeing without her. As long as she lived, your mind would not accept sight from any other source."

She nodded: it made sense.

"And the other..." He let his voice trail off, inviting her to continue.

"My uncle thought he knew." She spoke softly, so that even if Snape were awake, he would not hear. "He believed that it was because of the bond that formed between us - Professor Snape and me - when he saved my life. That I had surrendered my will to him that night, and even now, part of me was still obeying him instinctively. So I would never regain my sight as long as I was with him, because if I could see, I - I could become an Auror. And then I would have to leave him."

Dumbledore regarded her seriously down his long, crooked nose. "Do you believe that?"

"For a while... I feared it might be true."

"And now?"

Her mouth bent in a rueful smile; slowly, she shook her head. "Even if Professor Snape had managed to inadvertently Charm me when I was a child, the effects wouldn't have lasted fourteen hours, let alone fourteen years. And although owing him my life did give me a certain... desire... to show my gratitude somehow, to try and repay the debt... it didn't change who I am. The choices I've made are mine. Not his." She lifted her chin, gazed steadfastly past Dumbledore to the bed where Snape lay, his face oddly vulnerable in sleep and his black hair tumbled across the pillow. "I know that now."

"Good," said Dumbledore with satisfaction.

"Besides," added Maud without shifting her gaze, "if Professor Snape wants to control me, he's not doing a very good job of it. After tonight, he's as much in my debt as I ever was in his... and I can see again."

The Headmaster patted her arm and rose with an effort to his feet. "You have always seen more clearly than you knew, Miss Moody, especially where Severus is concerned. And since at times you also possess a singular ability to see _through_ him, you may yet be able to teach him one thing that I never could."

She looked up at him questioningly.

"To laugh at himself." Dumbledore reached into his sleeve again, drew out a tight roll of parchment. "Will you give this to Severus for me? My eyelids await their nightly inspection. As do yours, I am quite sure: so I would encourage you to take whatever rest you can before sunrise."

Maud was nonplussed. "Sir- you're allowing me to stay here?"

"I am. Provided you show good judgement in knowing when to leave, as I expect you will, you will find that you are able to return to your dormitory unobserved." He paused, then added with raised brows and a significant glitter in his eye, "However, if you insist on accompanying Severus to breakfast, I will not be answerable for the consequences."

The idea of herself sweeping into the Great Hall on Snape's arm, to the disbelieving stares of her fellow students, was so preposterous that Maud choked back a laugh. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Miss Moody," he acknowledged gravely, tipped his hat to her, and left.

Maud waited until the door had closed, then looked down at the parchment in her hands. What could it possibly be? For one mad moment she struggled with the impulse to open it: but her better judgement prevailed, and she set the roll aside. Then, quietly, she pulled her chair up to the end of the bed, put her head down on the blankets, and fell into an instant, dreamless sleep.

#

"Maud."

She woke at the sound of Snape's voice, sat upright with an effort. For a moment she looked stupidly at the empty bed, wondering where he had gone: then she turned her head, and saw him standing beside her.

He was fully dressed, in black robes identical to the ones he had ruined the night before, and the eyes that met hers were clear, glittering in the first faint light of dawn. He extended a hand to her, and as she took it and let him draw her to her feet she saw that he moved easily, as though he had never been injured at all.

"Good-" she started to say, and that was as far as she got before he took her face between his hands and covered her mouth with his.

As a first kiss it was impressive, and Maud was breathless by the time it ended. Through the haze, wondering if she was actually awake yet or whether this was just a vivid and potentially embarrassing dream, she heard herself say thickly, "You can't do that."

Snape folded his arms around her. "Oh?" he said.

"No, you can't," she insisted, muffled against his robes. "The rules-"

"Maud," said Snape, "do you have any idea what the rules actually say?"

"No," she said again, pushing against his chest in an effort to free herself from his embrace. "But I am quite sure they _don't_ say that you can do what you just did."

"True," agreed Snape, letting her go and watching her flushed face with proprietary amusement. "But they don't forbid it, either."

"That's impossible." She stared at him. "Professor Dumbledore made a joke about it once, I remember. 'Hand-holding between teachers and students is expressly against school rules.' And if-"

"Ah, but he did not say _which_ school. And having consulted the existing Hogwarts regulations myself - up to and including the ones Umbridge introduced this year - I can assure you that fraternisation is only regarded as a punishable offence when the student is not yet of age, or where there is evidence of coersion. However-" He reached out, smoothing a wayward strand back from her face - "I know as well as you do that opportunity is not the same as approval."

"Exactly." Cheeks burning, she batted his hand away, embarrassed by the realisation that for once his hair must look better than hers did.

"So I discussed the matter with the Headmaster. Who, in his usual circumspect manner, advised me to consult a higher authority."

She stared at him. "The board of governors?"

_"No,"_ said Snape with something like his old acidity. "Your uncle."

For a moment Maud gazed at him in disbelief: then her knees buckled, and Snape had to catch her by the elbows. "My uncle..." she whispered. " _That_ was why you went to see him? You actually took your life into your hands to ask-"

"-for his consent, yes. It seemed the only thing to do under the circumstances. And besides, if I hadn't, he really _would_ have killed me."

"Then that note-"

"-was from him. Indeed. Although there was a letter with it as well, addressed to you: would you like to read it?"

"I think I had better sit down," said Maud faintly.

_Dear Maudie,_

_I'm writing these lines under Dumbledore's watchful nose, and I'll have to be quick, as he's anxious to get back to Hogwarts. Your Professor Snape is a cheeky beggar, and altogether too sure of himself if you ask me. But Merlin's beard, he's got guts. And since he not only saved my life tonight, but took a-_ (here several words were scratched out) _nasty beating doing it, I'll admit I might have misjudged him._

_Still, even that wouldn't have been enough for me, if not for the Parnaby lad. Snape had to kill him, or else he'd have done for the whole lot of us and a good chunk of the countryside as well. But he made it quick - with more mercy than the boy deserved, in fact - and I could see he didn't enjoy it. Snape seemed to know Parnaby well - probably taught him at Hogwarts. I noticed, too, that P. was a bit like the Potter boy in looks. Anyway, when it was all over, Snape looked even sicker than usual. You'll want to keep an eye on him for the next few days, Maudie._

_I'll wager you never thought you'd see the day - me, telling you to look after Snape? Well, I may be a tough old_ (word crossed out) _badger, but I hope I can still admit when I've been wrong. I've mulled a good deal over what you said when you were here, and I think I'm starting to see the sense of it. I knew you had a sensible head on your shoulders, and you've always been older than your years; but even so I could never figure what could make you want to take up with a fellow like Snape. Now, though, I've seen a bit of his true colours for myself. And he must think a lot of you, Maudie, or he wouldn't have risked his skin coming to see me._

_I don't know what you'll make of all this. You did say you weren't in love with Snape, after all, and at the time you seemed to believe it. So you might not thank either one of us. But after what happened tonight, I've decided to give the man a chance._

_Your loving uncle,  
Alastor Moody _

_P.S. I'm not in love with Snape either, so make sure you send him packing if you don't want him. You always did have too much of a soft heart._

Behind this letter was another page, also written in her uncle's scrawling hand:

_I, Alastor Moody, hereby consent to allow Professor Severus Snape to pay his addresses to my niece and ward, Maud Margaret Moody, if for some reason she decides to let him. And if she does, he'd best keep his oath to behave himself like a gentleman. Otherwise, I hereby swear to hunt him down and curse his_ (large black scribble) _legs off. And that'll just be for starters._

_Signed this 24th day of January, 1996,  
Alastor Moody _

Maud read both pages twice, to be sure she wasn't imagining things. At last, slowly, she lowered them to her lap and looked up at Snape.

"You," she said, "are insane."

"If you think that's alarming," said Snape, "you should have heard the oath." He reached down and took the papers from her hands. "These will remain a secret between us and the Headmaster. I did not obtain your uncle's consent for the benefit of some board of governors, and I certainly did not do so for the Dark Lord."

Privately, Maud agreed: Voldemort was unlikely to appreciate anything that smacked of a truce between one of his Death Eaters and the notorious Mad-Eye Moody. Now, as before, their best hope was to keep their distance, and pretend that the animosity between Maud and her uncle - and between her uncle and Snape - was genuine.

"Of course," said Snape in an expressionless voice, still looking at the letters, "you do have your sight back."

"Yes," she said.

"And therefore you also have... options... that were not available to you before."

"Such as?" She knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"Becoming an Auror." He paused. "That is, after all, what you have always wanted. Isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, then..." He strode to the fireplace, held the papers above the glowing coals.

"You know better than that," said Maud softly.

He looked back at her, and the lines of his face eased as he lowered his arm. "I wanted you to know," he said, "that you have a choice."

"I've made my choice," she said. "I don't regret it."

Snape stood motionless, his tall, lean figure limned by the sunlight in luminous gold. For a moment, in spite of the harsh features and the sallow skin and the hair lying lank over his shoulders, he was beautiful.

"Neither do I," he said. And then he opened his arms to her, and she walked into them.

For a long moment they held each other, her hands caressing the muscles of his back, his face buried in her hair. Maud closed her eyes, a bittersweet ache in her heart as she realised how much they had both gained this night, and how much more than Athena's life - much as that grief still pained her - could have been lost.

Of course, they still had a lot to lose, especially now, if they did not maintain their vigilance. She had no fear that Snape would betray his true feelings by favouring her too much: he was more likely to err on the side of strictness. Anyway, he had lived a charade for so many years already that adding one more element to his subterfuge would hardly matter. Maud was more concerned about maintaining her own discretion, especially after what had happened with Muriel: she must be better prepared in future, and not allow herself to be caught out like that again.

And speaking of being caught...

"I have to go," she murmured reluctantly against Snape's heartbeat. "Dumbledore promised me safe passage back to the dormitory, but not if I wait much longer."

She felt him nod. He pulled back a little, kissed her forehead, her cheek, and last of all, lingeringly, her mouth. Then he let her go, and she picked up her cloak and left the room without another word.

#

"Muriel! Wake up! _Wake up!_ "

The voice was Annie Barfoot's. Maud opened her bleary eyes and pulled the covers off her head just in time to see the curly-haired girl grab Muriel with both hands and shake her - a liberty Annie would never have dared to take under normal circumstances.

"Wha'?" mumbled Muriel, making a futile effort to push Annie away. "Geroff."

"Lucinda and I just went down to the Great Hall." Annie sounded hysterical. "And Slytherin's lost _fifty points!"_

Maud sat up slowly, swung her legs around, and began quietly to dress herself. She pulled her black school robes over her head, then picked up a brush and smoothed her pale, silky hair with a few quick strokes. It was strange to look at her face head-on in the mirror, and not see Athena on her shoulder as well...

"YOU!" snarled Muriel's voice from behind her.

Maud whipped around and knocked Muriel's hand away from her arm. " _Don't_ touch me," she said, making each word icily clear.

Muriel's eyes locked on Maud's - and the colour drained from her face. She took a step back, her expression wary, almost fearful.

"That's right," said Maud levelly. "I can see. So tell me, Muriel... why should I care how many emeralds are in the Slytherin hourglass this morning?"

"Oh," squeaked Annie. "Oh, oh, oh!"

"Shut up!" Muriel barked, rounding on her. "Or get out!"

Annie clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes round as an owl's, and sat down abruptly on the end of the bed. Muriel glared at her a few seconds longer before turning back to Maud and meeting her gaze again, this time with a show of defiance.

"Fine," she said. "Maybe you don't care. But the rest of us do... and I promise you, Moody-girl, we'll make you sorry."

Maud smiled. "You can try," she said. "But I suggest you ask yourself something, Muriel: why might I want to leave Hogwarts at night, alone? And what kind of power does it take to make a blind girl see again?"

Annie turned a delicate shade of green, leaped up and ran from the room.

Muriel, on the other hand, seemed almost impressed. "Well, well," she said. "So what are you trying to tell me? That you have friends in low places?"

"Higher than you'll ever get."

" _Powerful_ friends?"

"You tell me," said Maud.

Muriel's eyes were narrowed, appraising. "I see," she said at last, though Maud could tell she didn't. But lack of information had never stopped her talking, and by the end of the day the school would be buzzing with some rumour or another about how Maud had got back her sight. Probably several different and contradictory rumours, in fact.

"So," Muriel said. "Who caught you sneaking back into the school? McGonagall? Umbridge?"

Maud was silent.

"Well, sight or no sight, Moody, I certainly wouldn't want to be you for the next few days." She reached out as though to give Maud a shove, but Maud stepped back, holding up her brush warningly.

"I'll only tell you one more time, Muriel. Don't touch me again. Ever."

Muriel glared at her, and opened her mouth to retort, but then Annie's tremulous voice came from the doorway: "Muriel - in the common room - he wants you."

"Who?" demanded Muriel, still not taking her eyes off Maud.

Annie gulped. "Professor Snape."

The sound of Snape's name was hardly melodic, but it still managed to do unexpected things to the base of Maud's spine. She might not have considered herself _in love_ with him a week ago, or even yesterday; but heaven help her, she certainly was now. Strange, she thought, how a choice made with the mind could so quickly take possession of the heart as well...

"You'd better get dressed," she said to Muriel, with more calmness than she felt.

Furiously Muriel turned, stalked over to her trunk, and began flinging robes about. Maud sat down on the end of her bed and continued brushing her hair until the slamming of the trunk lid told her the other girl had finished: then she got up and followed Muriel out the door.

Snape was standing by the fireplace, tapping one long finger against his folded arm. His gaze flickered to Maud as they entered, and for an instant their eyes locked: but his face remained expressionless, and in another moment his attention had shifted to Muriel. "Miss Groggins," he said crisply. "Come with me."

Shoulders hunched, as though she already knew and resented what lay ahead, Muriel followed him out of the common room. Maud watched until the door had shut behind them. Then she turned to Annie, standing uncertainly by her elbow, and said, "Quick, Annie. What _exactly_ did he say when he came in?"

The brown-haired girl shook her head. "Something about a meeting, and Muriel's presence being required... I can't remember." She darted a nervous glance at Maud, then bit her lip and dropped her eyes again. "Do you think she's in trouble?"

"Yes," said Maud slowly. "Actually, yes, I do."

"Then..." Annie blinked. "Maybe it wasn't you. Maybe it's her. The points, I mean. Do you think? I mean, did McGonagall - it was her who caught you, wasn't it? - _say_ she was taking fifty points?"

"No," Maud told her, with perfect honesty. "Professor McGonagall didn't say anything like that."

#

Muriel didn't show up in the Great Hall until breakfast was nearly over. She shoved her way onto the bench beside Lucinda, her eyes red-rimmed, and choked down a bowl of porridge without speaking or looking at anyone. She didn't merely look guilty, thought Maud: she looked condemned. And when Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall and Snape entered the Hall together a few minutes later, followed by a disgruntled-looking Umbridge, the glances of puzzlement and surprise being exchanged up and down the Slytherin table turned to looks of comprehension - and anger.

"I _knew_ she'd get in trouble one of these days!" hissed Lucinda as soon as Muriel had gone. "I told her she'd gone too far!"

Annie nodded solemnly. "There are things you just don't say."

This was a staggering bit of hypocrisy, considering that Lucinda and Annie were not only inveterate gossips themselves, but Muriel's own chief tale-bearers. Maud suppressed the urge to box both their ears, reached for another piece of toast, and said, "Like what?"

"Well-" Annie blushed. "Come on, Maud, you must know."

"Oh. That." Maud did not trouble to hide her amusement - though the reasons for it were different than any Lucinda or Annie could hope to guess. "Does anyone take that seriously?"

Lucinda looked up at her, shame and fear mingling in her watery green eyes. "Not- not any more," she said. "Now that we know what you were really doing."

Maud had no idea what they "knew", but she nodded as though she did.

"Anyway, I overheard some of the Gryffindors talking a few minutes ago," added Annie, "and they said that when McGonagall found out some of the things Muriel had been saying, she was _furious."_

"Maybe McGonagall has a thing for Snape," said Lucinda, and giggled.

Annie frowned. "This is serious, Lucinda. I heard Muriel might be expelled."

Maud doubted that Annie had heard anything of the kind: even if it were true, the news couldn't possibly have travelled that fast. But Lucinda seemed to accept it as a fact, and no doubt before long the rest of the Slytherins would as well.

"Hey, Moody."

The voice came from behind her, an insolent drawl that Maud knew all too well. She turned in her seat to see Draco Malfoy standing there, arms folded, smirking down at her. "So you've got your sight back," he said. "A good many people would like to know how you managed that one."

Maud gave him a tight smile. "Why don't you ask Annie and Lucinda?" she said, standing up and offering him her place on the bench. "They'll tell you the story much better than I ever could."

#

All that day Maud braced herself for accusations and recriminations, sure that someone would find out that she and not Muriel had been the cause of the dreaded fifty-point loss. But nobody did. And by the time the final class was dismissed, Maud had heard enough hair-raising accounts of Muriel's sins to eclipse even the worst rumours about her own - which was saying a good deal, because some of the theories about how Maud had recovered her sight were really quite alarming. Many of them involved Dark magic, Dark creatures, dubious midnight rituals in the forbidden forest, or some combination of the three. One even went so far as to suggest that she had killed a unicorn.

But those were the Slytherin rumours. The other seventh-year students - especially the Gryffindors - seemed to have a different view of the matter. As they saw it, Maud had been working with Snape on a potion to restore her vision, and last night she had finally discovered the missing ingredient that would make it succeed. In her excitement she had dashed out to meet Snape, just returning from his business outside Hogwarts, and they had headed back to the dungeons and brewed up the potion together.

It was all very straightforward, really. Of course, leaving the school after hours should have earned Maud at least a reprimand: but everybody knew that Snape favoured the Slytherins, and would do almost anything to keep his House from losing points. Why, he'd even ignored Muriel's slanders until the other Heads had finally got together and forced him to deal with her. After all, not just Snape's reputation as a teacher, but the reputation of Hogwarts itself, was at stake...

"I don't know how you did it," said Maud softly to George's bent head, "or even why. But thank you."

They were sitting on the floor of the travelling closet, a pile of scribbled notes between them, while Maud racked her brains for cheap ingredients and fresh ideas that might make _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_ even more of a success. She was doing the best she could - she owed George too much to do less - but it was harder than she'd imagined possible to keep her mind on the task at hand. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours...

"Well," said George, still scratching away with his quill, "you've got your sight back, you deserved a chance to celebrate. Anyway, Muriel had it coming to her. Taste of her own medicine and all that. Besides, how far off was I? You did get your sight back... and you did go to meet Snape."

There was a moment of awful silence. George looked up slowly, met Maud's eyes... and grinned. "Don't look so shocked," he said. "I still had Harry's map, remember? After you went tearing out of the Owlery, I went back to the dormitory and checked to see where you were headed. I'd have gone after you if I hadn't seen Snape at the edge of the map... but since you seemed to have some sort of appointment with him, and you'd been acting like it was top-secret business, I figured I'd better not interfere."

Some sort of appointment...

Well, that was one way of putting it. "What else did you see?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

"I followed you until you met up with Snape. Then not much seemed to be happening, so..." He shrugged. "I gave up and went to bed. I figured you had to be all right: you were with Snape, after all. He may be a miserable vicious sod and for all I know he's double-crossing Dumbledore to work for You-Know-Who, but even he wouldn't be stupid enough to hurt a student right here at Hogwarts. Especially not Mad-Eye Moody's niece."

Relief washed over Maud, and her muscles relaxed. "You seem to have it all worked out," she said.

"Well, I had enough time to think about it. Especially after you went haring off last night and left me standing there with your new seeing-eye owl." He gave her a shrewd look. "So... how _did_ you get your sight back, anyway?"

"Just like your rumour said... Professor Snape and I made a potion."

"But it took a while for it to work?"

She nodded.

"Cool," said George. "Did you write down the recipe? Because I bet it'd sell like mad."

Maud smiled.

"By the way..." George put down the quill, pushed the papers aside and sat up, his eyes serious now. "Did you ever find Dumbledore? You seemed pretty upset that he wasn't there last night."

"I..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I didn't want to do anything without consulting him. It was a difficult situation, and I thought I would need his help."

"Well, you seem to have managed all right."

"Yes." Her eyes met his steadily. "Thanks to you."

George continued to regard her gravely for a moment: then he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and puckered up his lips in such an absurdly exaggerated way that Maud burst out laughing.

"Is that," she said, "your idea of a just reward?"

George grinned and sat back again. "Nah, just couldn't stand the melodrama."

Maud grabbed her school bag and threw it at his head; he dodged it and fell over backwards, chortling. "You are incorrigible," she accused, unable to keep the smile from her face. It was a relief to know that whatever else he might have thought of her behaviour last night, she hadn't hurt his feelings.

"Yep," said George cheerfully, and tossed the bag back at her. "Now you'd better get going, Miss Moody. Somebody's going to wonder where you are."

"Good point." Wincing a little at the stiffness in her muscles, Maud got to her feet. "Which reminds me - where's Fred?"

"Dunno. Haven't seen him since last class."

"He didn't know we were meeting here?" Maud was surprised: the Weasley twins were usually inseparable.

"Nope."

A peculiar suspicion began to grow in her mind. "George - how much _does_ Fred know?"

"Er..." George paused, frowned, and looked up at the ceiling, as though compiling some mental list. "Actually... not a thing."

Maud's mouth dropped open. "He doesn't even know... about this? That we made a deal... that I'm helping you?"

"Nope." He gave her a wicked grin. "Just imagine how clever I'm going to look."

"But you'd made a bet about - you had a bet on. You mean... you didn't tell him what I told you? You didn't collect?"

"Nope."

"And last night... wasn't he with you when you looked at the map?"

"Nope."

"But..." She looked at him helplessly. "I thought you did everything together."

"Not half!" he said, sounding indignant. Then he relented and said, "Well, all right, a bit more than half. But not everything. I don't make Fred tell me everything he gets up to when I'm not around, do I? Everyone's entitled to a bit of privacy."

She was still surprised, but she wasn't about to argue. "All right," she said, and turned to go.

"Besides," muttered George under his breath, "if I told him, I'd have to pay him ten Galleons, wouldn't I?"

Maud froze.


	7. Patience

"You," Maud said to George without looking around, "are frightening me."

"Not half as much as the idea of you with Snape frightens me," said George.

She turned slowly, met his candid gaze with her own. "How..."

"I'm not as thick as I look." He sounded resigned. "If I'd had any doubt you weren't telling me the whole truth when you said you were spying on Snape, last night would have settled it. Not only did you turn down a perfectly good snog - not that I hold it against you, I'm just submitting it as evidence - you went tearing off into the freezing rain just to meet him." He grimaced. "I just hope you know something about him that the rest of us don't. Because otherwise, I'm going to have to chuck out everything I thought I knew about you and start over."

Maud flushed. "No... don't do that." She looked down at the floor. "You're right... I didn't tell you the whole truth. But-" her head came up again- "I didn't lie, either. I never lie, if I can avoid it."

"Probably for the best," agreed George equitably, "'cause you're absolute pants at it." He paused, then added with a touch of exasperation, "Oh, don't look so tragic, woman, I'm not going to interrogate you. Even if I wanted to know, it's none of my business. And believe me, if Snape is involved, I _don't_ want to know."

She closed her eyes, feeling the knot inside her beginning to unwind. "George," she said, "have I told you that you are one of the most remarkable men I've ever met?"

"Oh, I like that," said George, with something like his old insouciance. "Come back and say it again tomorrow. Until then - hop it, will you? I'm starting to get claustrophobia in here."

Maud gave him a grateful smile, shouldered her bag, and left.

#

Someone had turned the lights down in the dorm until only a faint greenish glow remained, bathing the room in sickly pallor. As Maud entered, she could just make out a huddled shape on the bed in the far corner. She tossed her schoolbag onto a chair and went over to investigate.

"Muriel?" she asked cautiously.

There was no answer. She stepped closer, reached out to touch the other girl's shoulder. "Muriel?"

"Go away," said a thick voice, muffled by the blankets.

Maud sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Look," she said. "I know it's rotten, but it's not the end of the world. They'll forget about it in a few days, and-"

Muriel jerked upright and turned a red, swollen face toward her. "Shut up!" she spat. "What do you know about anything? Get out! Just get out and leave me alone!" When Maud hesitated, she glared at her fiercely, eyes glowing with misery and rage: then her face crumpled and she collapsed once more onto the bed, weeping.

Resigned, Maud rose to her feet, turned and walked back the way she had come. She was almost at the door before Muriel spoke again, her voice a choked whisper:

"I hate you. I hate you so much. I wish you were dead." She drew a sharp breath, added with sudden venom, "I'll see you dead."

A chill ran up Maud's spine. "You don't mean that," she said, keeping her voice even with an effort.

"Oh, don't I?" Muriel gave a harsh laugh. "Of course you're right. You're _always_ right. No, I won't kill you, not now, not here. But after Hogwarts..." She paused, and her bitter smile glimmered in the darkness. "You'd better watch your back."

Maud's hands curled into fists. She stood a moment in silence, scarcely able to believe what she had just heard: then abruptly she shouldered her way past the half-open door and left.

Was Muriel insane? Schoolgirl rivalry and jealousy were one thing; murderous hate was another. Yet Maud couldn't shake the feeling that Muriel's words were more - far more - than an empty threat. There had been no hesitation, no hint of shame in Muriel's voice when she spoke of killing Maud: indeed, underneath the surface anger was a note of fervent, almost sensual, pleasure.

_And that,_ thought Maud with bleak certainty, _is how Death Eaters are made..._

Lost in her own troubled thoughts, she left the Slytherin dormitory and was halfway down the corridor when a familiar, crisp voice came from behind her. "Miss Moody?"

Maud stopped, turned to see Professor McGonagall standing there. "Yes?" she said.

"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office." She gave Maud a penetrating look through her spectacles. "Immediately."

Now what?

Maud wondered, but she followed without protest. They made their way up the stairs and through the corridors to the familiar stone gargoyle, where McGonagall stopped and said, with a faint note of disapproval in her voice, "Canary Cream."

The gargoyle leaped aside, revealing the spiral stair to Dumbledore's office. "Go on," said McGonagall, as Maud hesitated. "He's waiting for you."

Maud stepped onto the staircase, expecting McGonagall to follow: but when she glanced back over her shoulder, the wall had closed behind her and the older woman was nowhere to be seen. Surprised, but a little relieved - at least she wasn't going to be called up before the Heads, or anything of that sort - Maud rode the revolving stair until the familiar polished-oak door came in sight, then stepped off and rapped tentatively with the brass door-knocker.

"Enter," said Dumbledore.

She pushed the door open. There in front of her was the snug circular room she had visited before, its walls lined with the smiling, blinking, scowling or gently snoozing portraits of former Headmasters. Fawkes sat on his customary perch, the Sorting Hat on its shelf, and Dumbledore at his desk; at first glance the whole scene appeared quite ordinary. But no sooner had she stepped inside than an unexpected shape caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to see-

"Uncle Alastor." Her voice was a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"Maudie," he said, his face blank with surprise, and then again, fiercely, _"Maudie!"_ and he caught her up in a crushing embrace.

"I can't believe it," he rasped over the top of her head, as near to tears as she had ever seen him - certainly nearer than she had ever imagined he could be. "You can see, girl. You can see!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of inviting Alastor here for a private meeting," he said. "I thought you would like him to know."

"Oh, yes," said Maud gratefully, her face muffled against Mad-Eye's broad shoulder. She tightened her arms around him, hugging him back with equal warmth. "I'd been wondering how I could possibly get word to you, when we're supposed to have washed our hands of each other - oh, Uncle, it is good to see you again!"

"But how, Maudie? How did it happen?" He released her and held her at arm's length, gazing with disbelief into her clear green eyes.

Maud smiled. "Sit down," she said, "and I'll tell you all about it."

#

"So he asked me where Athena was... and that was when I realised I could see."

For a moment after Maud had finished speaking, Alastor Moody sat motionless, his grizzled head bowed. "Poor Athena," he said gruffly. "Poor little creature." Then he gave himself a little shake, as though recalling himself, and sat up again. "Well, you had quite the night, to be sure. Good to know Snape made it back to Hogwarts in one piece: he wasn't looking too lively when he left. And by the way, Maudie-"

She looked at him inquiringly.

"-don't think I didn't notice the parts you left out."

But Maud had already anticipated that challenge. "What," she said with perfect calm, "the part where Professor Snape read me a sonnet, or the part where we danced the tango?"

"Just stay on your feet, girl," growled Moody, but she could see the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and knew that she had disarmed him.

"If you will excuse me," said Dumbledore politely, "I believe that was the dinner bell. Miss Moody, you may continue to visit with Alastor in my absence if you wish, but may I suggest that you not miss tonight's meal entirely?"

"Yes, sir," said Maud. "I'll only be a few moments."

Dumbledore smiled at her, shook her uncle's hand, and left.

"So you've accepted Snape, Maudie?" said Mad-Eye, looking at her shrewdly. She gave a little, half-embarrassed nod, and he snorted. "No accounting for taste. Well, at least you won't be taking it too seriously. Not when you know it can't last."

"Can't it?"

"Of course it can't. It was one thing for you to be working with Snape when it seemed you'd no other option: but now you've got your sight back-"

"We've already discussed that," she said. "I'm not going to be an Auror, uncle."

"Maudie!"

"Don't try to make me change my mind." Her voice was firm. "I know what you're thinking, but this isn't about Professor Snape, not really. It's just that - if there's one thing I've learned since coming to Hogwarts, it's that I'm not as strong as I thought I was. Maybe it's the fault of those six years I spent at Durmstrang, but I can't trust myself to fight hard and still fight clean. So... maybe I need to do my fighting in a different way."

His eyebrows shot up. "You think pretending to side with Voldemort is cleaner?"

"No," she said calmly, "I don't. And even if I did, fooling my schoolmates is one thing; fooling Voldemort is another. So I'm not going to be a spy, either. Or at least, not that kind of spy."

"Then what?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm a good observer, I know that: and I know how to analyse and interpret what I see. Perhaps I'll do something along those lines. Or I might use my skill at Potions and go into medicine - if there's going to be a war, we'll need all the Healers we can get. But I promise you, uncle, I'm not giving up. I swear I'll find some way to fight Voldemort, some way to make a difference. And once I know what it is... I'm not going to let anyone stop me doing what I believe to be right."

"Not even Snape?" It was a challenge.

"No," she said quietly. "Not even Snape."

A slow smile began at one corner of her uncle's mouth and worked its way over to the other. "That's my girl," he said.

#

"Four grams of dried Billywig stings," said Maud, her eyes fixed on the book she was holding.

Snape picked up a jar from the workbench beside him, tipped the contents onto the scale. Eyes narrowed, he adjusted the quantity with a small silver spoon until the measurement was perfect, then poured the glittering powder into the cauldron. "Next," he said crisply.

She ran her finger down the list of ingredients. "Three Fwooper feathers."

"Tail or wing?"

"The latter, I think... yes, wing."

"Colour? Always be specific, Miss Moody."

So it was _Miss Moody_ again, was it? Well, she shouldn't be surprised. Fifteen minutes ago she'd walked in the door with her heart beating painfully against her ribcage and her skin prickling with anticipation, only to find a heavy leather-bound book thrust into her arms and a dispassionate voice telling her to make herself useful. He had not so much as looked at her since.

"Pink," she said wearily.

"Pink," repeated Snape, lips curling back from his teeth as though the word annoyed him. "Very well. Next?"

"Two Ashwinder eggs." She was strongly tempted to add, "...and a partridge in a pear tree," but suspected that Snape was not in the mood for jokes.

"Done. Next?"

"A cup and a half of..." She stared down at the book. "Chocolate sauce?"

"Yes, yes." He made an impatient gesture. "And then what?"

But Maud was no longer paying attention: she was reading the rest of the ingredients. When she had finished she looked up and said in a carefully measured voice, "Exactly why, may I ask, are you making a love potion?"

"Because," said Snape, stirring the cauldron, "I had none on hand."

She closed the book, set it down on a nearby chair, and walked over to stand beside him. "Let me rephrase that," she said. "Why would you think that you _need_ a love potion?"

"I don't." He stooped closer to the cauldron, frowning. "Would you call that colour red, or orange?"

Maud opened her mouth to address him sharply by name, realised that she no longer had any idea what to call him, and shut it again. "Orange," she said after a moment.

"It ought to be red." He gave a _tsk_ of irritation, snapped his fingers and held out one hand. "Let me see that book again."

Maud hesitated, then turned and walked back to the chair. Picking up the book once more, she wrapped both arms around it and stood there in silence, waiting.

A few long seconds passed while Snape continued to stir and scowl into the cauldron. Then he straightened up, turned very slowly, and met her steady gaze. "Miss Moody," he said, "hand me the book."

"No, thank you, not at present. Professor Snape-" that much, at least, came easily- "would you please answer my question?"

He dropped the ladle in the cauldron and strode over to her, dark robes billowing. "Give me that."

She spun away from him, still clutching the book against her. It was a childish trick, and beneath her, but it was the only thing she could think of. "Sorry," she said.

Silence. She stood there stubbornly, waiting for him to snap at her or wrench the book out of her hands - he could do it, he had the strength - or anything really, so long as he stopped playing this inexplicable mind game and told her what was going on. Did he doubt what had passed between them that morning? Was he really so unsure of himself, or her, that he would resort to this?

No, it was unthinkable; he must have some other reason. And yet...

Snape took a step closer, leaning down until his mouth brushed her ear. In a low, almost purring voice he said, "Maud. My love. If you do not turn around and give me that book within thirty seconds, this potion will be ruined and I will have to start all over again. So, unless you want the rest of this evening to be just as tedious as the last fifteen minutes have been... _give me the book."_

_My love._ Maud felt all her muscles turn to butter. Snape reached around her, plucked the book neatly from her grasp, and walked away without another word.

"That was unfair," she said, when she had gathered her wits enough to speak.

Snape did not look up at her, but the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. He studied the recipe intently for a moment: then he snapped the book closed, added several more ingredients to the cauldron in rapid succession, and stirred it for two full minutes in silence. Then at last he put the ladle down, turned back to face her and said levelly:

"Now. As you ought to know, I have no interest in, and no use for, love potion for its own sake. However, it occurred to me that to keep a bottle or two, suggestively half-empty, on my shelves might be... a wise precaution, should our relationship be discovered."

"So that I can disown you and walk away?" She was incredulous. "Never. I'd never do that to you."

Snape's smile was tinged with bitterness. "I believe you. But it may be necessary, nonetheless. Better that the Dark Lord should think you my toy than my lover, I assure you: if there appears to be no real bond between us, he will not attempt to use either one of us to manipulate the other."

Her mouth was dry. "But I can't. Even if I wanted to - I'm not that good a liar."

"It makes no difference. Even if you swore undying devotion to me, with such an excellent piece of circumstantial evidence to hand-" he glanced back at the cauldron meaningfully - "you would not be believed."

The implication - that even among the Death Eaters, he was regarded as so repulsive that any relationship he might have _must_ be the result of some potion - was not lost on her. "And then," she said softly, aching for him, "what would happen to you?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps nothing. Certainly many people would be shocked, even horrified: but you are of age, and no one could _prove_ you had not acted of your own free will. At worst, I suppose, I would lose my position here. But that would do little to hinder my usefulness to the Dark Lord, and no doubt I would find employment elsewhere, given time."

He spoke, thought Maud, as though it scarcely mattered. But she knew better: Hogwarts was his home, his refuge, and to leave it would be like tearing out his heart. "No," she said harshly. "I'm not going to let you do this-"

A dangerous spark kindled in the depths of his eyes. "You of all people, Maud, should know better than to tell me what price I should or should not be prepared to pay. I answered your question; I was not asking your permission. The matter is closed."

"You don't have to protect me." Her voice was quiet, but there was no meekness in it.

"Quite true," he said equitably. "I don't have to kiss you, either. Are there any more staggeringly obvious statements that you would care to make at this time?"

His mouth remained sober, but in his eyes the spark had become a dancing flame; and she realised with a start that he was laughing at her. "I'm serious!" she said, resisting the urge to stamp her foot in frustration.

"No doubt. But if you will insist on indulging your unfortunate penchant for melodrama in my presence-"

_"My_ penchant for melodrama?" For a moment she was outraged; then she saw the glint of Snape's teeth in the semidarkness, and knew she had just taken the bait.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Your uncle's penchant for melodrama, conscientiously handed down to the next generation. Well, at least one of us comes by it honestly."

Maud stared at him. Had that actually been an attempt at self-mockery?

In a brisk tone, Snape went on: "In any case, there is no point in agonising, much less arguing, over something which may very well never happen. Indeed, the odds are considerably against it, now that the poisonous Miss Groggins has been silenced."

"That reminds me," said Maud, resigning herself to the change of subject. "How did you manage that, exactly?"

He turned back to the cauldron, began ladling the potion into bottles. "I didn't - which is the beauty of it. Everyone knows that I failed to discipline Muriel so long as the choice was left up to me, and that I was most put out when the other teachers conspired to force my hand. After all, her rumours were based on the supposition that I actually had a love life - an unprecedented notion, and one that I surely must have found quite flattering."

There was a note of wry humour in his tone, and Maud put a hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

"As for the matter of the lost Slytherin points being generally attributed to Miss Groggins rather than yourself," Snape went on, "even that was none of my doing. The other Heads deemed my punishment of your misdemeanour excessively harsh under the circumstances, and reduced it to twenty points. Muriel was then given a severe reprimand, instructed to clean the Owlery without the use of magic at her next available opportunity, and told that the remaining thirty points from Slytherin would now be counted as her fault. I, of course, objected to having my judgement overruled-"

"Of course."

"-but alas, my efforts were in vain. Professor Umbridge was ready to intervene on Muriel's behalf, but when it was suggested to her that if wild rumours were allowed to circulate about other members of the Hogwarts staff it would surely be only a matter of time until slanders were made against her as well, she changed her mind. And in the end, all seemed to agree it would be appropriate not to announce to the other students the nature of Miss Groggins' punishment, but rather allow her to see for herself whether her testimony would be believed."

It _was_ appropriate, Maud had to admit: but no wonder Muriel had found it such a bitter pill: not only had she lost favour among her fellow Slytherins, she had lost her place among Umbridge's favourites as well. For a moment she was tempted to tell Snape what had happened in the dorm, but then dismissed the thought. She only wanted his advice, not his intervention; and even if he were nothing more to Maud than her Head of House, a death threat against her was not something he could be expected to ignore. So instead she kept silent, and watched him work.

As he deftly stoppered the bottles he had filled, her gaze lingered on the turn of his wrists, the elegant bones of his hands. The dungeon was cold, as it always was at this time of year; but she could feel the blood pulsing warm beneath her skin, her mouth tingling with the memory of his last kiss. It seemed impossible that twenty-four hours ago she had still been insisting to herself that she was not in love with him; absurd that sixteen hours ago she had spoken of love in merely philosophical terms. There was no sophistry, much less pragmatism, in her now.

With practised ease Snape set the bottles on the shelf, removed the cauldron from the fire, and whisked the debris off the workbench with a flick of his wand. He passed a hand through his hair in an almost unconscious gesture, then turned to her and said in conversational tones, "The door is, of course, locked."

"Of course," said Maud, not quite steadily.

"And I took the precaution of warding the corridor - subtly, of course - so that if anyone decides to wander in our direction, I will know."

"Very wise of you."

"On the other hand, I was not joking about the oath I swore to your uncle. So you need not fear that your virtue is in jeopardy."

"I know." She raised her head, looked him in the eye. "I'm not afraid."

For a moment he returned her gaze without speaking; then he gave a slow smile and replied, in a voice all the more forcible for its softness: "Yes, you are."

She had no answer to this, not least because she was finding it hard to breathe.

"Which is a good thing," Snape went on calmly, "because it would be galling if I were the only one."

Maud was startled out of her trance. "You?"

His dark brows arched. "Foolish girl, do you think I do this every day? Just because _you_ appear to have beguiled yourself into finding me irresistible-"

The tension broke: Maud threw back her head and laughed. "Guilty as charged," she said. "Am I really so transparent?"

"Crystalline." He walked toward her, his steps deliberate but unhesitating. "Pellucid. Diaphanous." He lifted her hair, let it slide through his fingers. "Pearlescent." His thumbs brushed the corners of her eyes. "Luminous." His palm caressed her cheek. "Radiant."

Maud reached up, drew a lock of hair away from his face. There was nothing greasy about it at all. She traced the line of his cheekbone, where his pale skin glowed golden in the firelight, then touched his lips in a wordless exhortation to silence.

"Impatient," said Snape, his voice throaty with amusement, but he got no further, as Maud drew his head down and silenced his mouth with hers.

This was not like their first kiss, where she had been almost too surprised to recognise what was happening; nor like their second, which had been little more than a brief, tender gesture of farewell. This, with his hands sliding down her back to her waist, her arms winding about his shoulders, their lips capturing and recapturing each other's with increasing urgency, was like tasting fire. Another moment, and the intensity was too much for her: she broke away, flushed and suddenly shy.

"Sorry," she panted. "I didn't mean to-"

"Yes, you did," he said, sounding as though he were a little breathless himself. "You just weren't prepared for what it would be like." He paused. "Neither was I, for that matter. Coming from someone who appears to define love as an alliance of compatible philosophies, I expected something a little more... restrained."

Maud smiled and dropped her face against his shoulder. "You've forgotten the other part of the Moody legacy," she said.

"Which is?"

She turned her head, lips brushing the hollow of his throat. "Passion."

Snape made an odd, strangled noise, and for a moment she feared she had gone too far; but when he spoke, his voice sounded pained. "Maud," he said, "let me suggest something to you. At this moment, the very _last_ thing I want to be thinking of is what it would be like to kiss your uncle."

Maud choked, spluttered, and began to laugh helplessly into his collarbone. "You know that wasn't what I meant!"

"I'm relieved to hear it," said Snape, weaving his fingers through her hair and tilting her head back. His mouth was relaxed, faintly smiling; his eyes glittered like black diamonds beneath the half-closed lids. "In that case... kiss me again."

#

A few minutes later, they sat together on the hearth-rug, facing the low-burning fire. Snape's arms encircled Maud's shoulders, and his chin rested on the top of her head. Athena would have been most indignant with him, Maud couldn't help thinking; she wouldn't have had anywhere to sit...

She winced. It was still painful to be reminded that the little owl would never ride on her shoulder again; not even the thrill of having her own sight back could take that sting away. Feeling the threatening prickle of tears behind her eyes, she searched for a distraction, and ended up speaking the first words that came into her head:

"Do you know," she said to Snape, "I don't know what to call you."

"Master

will do," he said easily.

She made a derisive noise. "You wish."

"Maud, if you remind me of your uncle one more time-"

"Sorry." She paused. "Severus."

"What?"

"I was just trying it out. Do you like your name?"

He shrugged. "It serves the purpose. Say it again."

"Severus."

"It sounds all right." His voice sharpened. "Just don't say it in class."

She smiled. "Don't worry, I won't. Can you imagine?"

"I prefer not to."

Silence. Absently, he picked something off the floor and flicked it into the fire, making the flames leap up and burn momentarily blue before subsiding again.

"Of course," said Maud quietly, "we both know this can't last."

It was typical of Snape that he did not even need to question what she meant. "Not like this, no. Even without the Dark Lord and the war we both know is coming, the end of your schooling would see to that. Still..." His arms tightened around her. "All is not lost once you leave Hogwarts. It may be difficult for us to meet often, but we'll find a way." He paused. "Unless you think you might change your mind about not becoming an Auror."

She shook her head.

"Then..." He stroked her hair, then slid his hand down her arm and laced his fingers through hers. "We'll just have to wait and see."


End file.
